Stay a While
by endsoftime
Summary: Zoro's got a policy against getting attached. To anything, and anyone. But living with these assholes, that might be a bit more difficult than usual. AU, eventual ZoSan, slight, undefined NamixVivi. Lemons in later chapter. Much later.
1. Stuck Between a Rock, and Hell on Earth

Zoro reread the ad he'd torn out of the newspaper, wondering where the fuck, exactly, he had ended up. He had no real directions, just an address for a shitty tenement apartment in the East Village. Sort of pissed him off, really. He hated New York; all the traffic noises, pollution, high taxes, and just general bullshit. Not that he hadn't found that in every other city he'd ever lived in, but there seemed to be a higher concentration of it in New York. But it wasn't like he could go back to Philadelphia; no money meant no transportation, and it usually meant nowhere to stay, too, but Zoro figured the worse the neighborhood, the better his intimidating figure could bully the landlords into dropping the price. And if that didn't work, he had three swords slung over his shoulder that were pretty good with negotiations. People tended to take one look at them, and immediately assume that Zoro was crazy. Whatever, didn't bother him, as long as they gave him the discount. That was the plan, anyway. It had an oddly high rate of success, too.

At the moment, though, Zoro wasn't sure where he was. It wasn't too big of a deal, he usually never really knew where he was, but the sun was starting to set, and it'd be a good idea if he found the place before it got dark. He didn't feel like wasting his time with strung-out junkies spoiling for a fight the first day he hit town. Plus he was tired as shit. Maybe he ought to just ask someone directions?

He spotted a woman standing at a street corner waiting for the light to change and quickly jogged up to her, calling out "Hey!"

_Oh, real smooth dumbass, that doesn't sound like I'm gonna attack her at all!_

But she turned around, no more alarmed than if they'd been old friends. "Yes? Can I help you, sweetie?"

_Sweetie? Whatever…_

"Yeah, I'm looking for…" he trailed off, searched the ad for an address, and then thought better of it and just handed the paper to her, "I'm looking for this place."

She looked over the ad for a second, a grin slowly sliding up her freckled face. "Well you're lucky you found me, honey!" she said, flipping her dark, wavy hair that just barely touched her shoulders. "I know exactly where this place is. You aren't too far off, either. Why don't you follow me? I'm walking right past it."

None of Zoro's "this-person-is-a-dangerous-freak" senses were going off, so he shrugged and muttered something like a thank you to her, moving next to her as they continued waiting for the light. She just laughed at him, twirling her hair and batting abnormally long eyelashes.

"You aren't from around here, are you, deary?"

Zoro was trying to control the vein that throbbed with every new pet name she came up with. "No," was his curt reply.

"Where's home?"

"No where."

She arched a thinly penciled eyebrow. "No where? You don't have a home? Where do you live?"

"Don't have a home, I'll be living at this apartment if I can afford it."

"You can, trust me."

Zoro cut her a glance, realizing she was really kinda tall for a chick, although she was probably sporting heels. There was something…kinda off about her. What, the swordsman couldn't quite put his finger on. She wasn't unattractive, she was just...well…

"Light changed!" she said, grinning at him before making her way across the street, Zoro tailing after her with scowl in place. She walked in front of him, swaying her bony hips in a tight skirt, incredibly long legs wrapped in black thigh-highs, her four inch heels clicking on the concrete as she walked. Some guys passing by hollered and whistled at her, and she just laughed and waved back. Vaguely, Zoro wondered if he'd just unwittingly employed the services of a hooker. Not _those_ services, no, he just needed directions. Seriously.

"This is St. Marks Place," the possible whore said, once they stepped up on the sidewalk. "See how it curves at the end, about four blocks down? That's where it turns into Astor Place. There's a really good pizza joint at the corner, and further up, on 8th Street there's a NYU campus. And then Washington Square Park is just a few miles jog up, on…"

But Zoro stopped paying attention. Beyond the mention of a restaurant, which usually meant booze, he wasn't interested in anything else this shitty neighborhood had to offer. It's not like he was gonna settle down and raise a goddamn family, so why the hell did he need to know where the park was? He didn't see himself staying here any longer than five or six months, anyway; enough time to get a job and make enough money to get the fuck out of here. And go where, he still didn't know. But he'd find out soon enough, he was sure.

"Well, this is you!" the woman said suddenly, jerking Zoro from his thoughts. They'd stopped in front of a tall brick building, maybe four stories high. Graffiti sprawled across the ground level in colorful arcs and several of the windows were boarded up. The other floors looked to be in better condition, and the only thing remarkable about them was that, on the highest level, a stick had been duct-taped to the fire escape, with a pirate flag billowing at the end of it.

_A pirate flag…with a straw hat..?_

"Hope I didn't talk your ear off, darling!"

"Er, thanks," he said, frowning once at the flag before looking back at her.

"I think the room you're looking for is at the top of the stairs; the guy up there should give you a good deal."

Zoro nodded and held out his hand to her in a gruffly polite gesture. She looked at it, then at him, and giggled a little before taking a step forward, bypassing the outstretched hand, and pressing in close to lay a chaste kiss on his cheek. She pulled back a bit, eyebrow arched seductively.

"I'd wish you good luck in the big bad city," she whispered, hands planted on his firm chest, "but you look like the kinda guy who can take care of himself."

She backed up, mischief sparkling in her dark eyes, and Zoro realized two things from this encounter: the woman was about two inches taller than him, and she probably had the smallest breasts of any woman he'd ever come across. And he was feeling an irritating heat burn his cheeks just slightly. Okay, so three things.

"But just in case you need a little help getting the guy upstairs to be reasonable, tell him Diamond sent ya!" And with that, plus a wink, a blown kiss, and a "See ya, hottie!" the woman was off, sauntering and swaying with remarkably long strides down the street.

Zoro watched her for a second, before shaking his head roughly, trying to dispel the weirdness. The only thing that mattered was that he'd finally gotten to the shitty apartment building, it was still light out, and he was feeling pretty confident about getting a decent price for a place to stay. But that "Diamond"…something seemed kina off about her…in any event, he was tired, hungry, and in need of some form of alcohol. Without wasting another moment thinking about it, he shrugged his Army duffel higher on his shoulder, grumbling when it knocked his sword case and he had to adjust _that_ too, and made his way up the front stoop and into the apartment building.

The trek up to the top floor didn't take too long, although the hallways were dark and more than once Zoro stumbled on a random rollerblade or stack of old newspapers that the tenants had dumped out on the landing. It didn't look rat-infested, which improved his opinion of the place about a half a notch, although he was still maintaining a firm belief that if one simply pulled the plaster off the wall, there would be massive colonies of cockroaches to be found. But, he had to admit this wasn't the shittiest place he'd ever lived; it was the Taj-fucking-Mahal compared to that one apartment in Salem. "Fucking shit-box" was a term that often came to mind, and although Zoro had never harbored any attachment to any of the places he'd ever stayed, he certainly had felt no love-loss when he ditched that scene for Philadelphia.

An empty pizza box snagged Zoro's foot just then, the swordsman stumbling forward, nearly face-planting into the staircase. He grumbled, hoisting himself back up and viciously kicking the cardboard to teach it some manners, and decided he'd better concentrate on making it to his new apartment alive. He wasn't too far from it; after rounding one more landing, there were just a few steps until the staircase finally dead-ended at the front door of the last room in the building. Zoro stepped up on the landing, shrugging at his duffel again, and knocked loudly on the metal sliding door. He hadn't even pulled his fist away before it sailed open, revealing a very young and very excited face that was soon invading Zoro's personal bubble.

"Hi! You got the ad, right!" the guy asked, grinning like it was the best day of his life.

"Uh…"Zoro said, feeling a bit bewildered, "yeah, the ad in _The Village Voice_? I got it."

"Sweet! Come in!" And then the boy grabbed his arm, all but yanking him into the spacious, studio apartment. The spacious studio apartment that looked suspiciously lived in; there was a large, orange rug in the middle of the room, marking the boundaries of the living room, with a TV and one of those video game machines, as well as a bean bag chair, a coffee table, and a short couch shoved up against the wall of large picture windows that looked out over the fire escape and a dingy street corner. The kitchen area was designated by a gas stove, a sink, and several stainless steel counters built into the wall to the left of the front door, just beside one of the bedrooms.

_One of the bedrooms…?_

Zoro had the strange feeling he'd made a huge mistake, and reached into his pocket to look at the ad again. He was definitely in the right place, but…

"Oh fuck," he mumbled, reading over a particular line of the ad that he'd managed to miss earlier. It wasn't an ad to rent an apartment. It was an ad to rent _one of the rooms _in an apartment. He had roommates. Roommates that would probably annoy the piss out if him. He sighed, despairing slightly; this was New York, after all. It fucking got on his nerves. Might as well live with a bunch of morons to encourage his conviction for leaving. And besides, where the hell else was he gonna find somewhere to stay?

Suddenly he became aware of a voice near him, and realized the guy who'd let him in had been talking all the while.

"…but you _really _can't eat that, I tried it one time, my stomach cramped up for like, a week, and Nami yelled at me that '_You can't eat electrical cords, Luffy_,' but it looked _just like _that weird, noodly stuff Sanji made one time, but it was sooooo funny, and Nami was screaming, and Sanji started kicking everyone's ass, but we couldn't quit _laughing_, and Usopp snorted so hard he shot milk out his nose, and he _wasn't even drinking milk_, and then─"

Zoro blinked, watching in slight awe. Apparently this guy didn't need anyone else for a conversation; he seemed plenty amused by the sound of his own voice. "Oi," he said loudly, throwing the breaks on the random chatter, "who all lives here, anyway?"

The guy blinked for a second, as though he'd forgotten, and then broke out into another huge grin. "I live here!" he cried triumphantly.

"Yeah, I figured that. Anyone else? There're three rooms here."

"Oh yeah! There's um…well, Usopp used to live here, but he moved in with Kaya 'bout four months ago, and Sanji still lives here, but he's out of town a lot, 'cuz the Funny-Mustache-Man wants more restaurants, and I don't get that, 'cuz the one he's got is the best, anyway, but he just yells something about 'expansion' and hits me with a soup spoon, but I don't really care, he's funny, and Sanji feeds me, so it's not like ─"

"Two people!" Zoro shouted suddenly.

_Can't…take…the babble!_

"Two people live here right now, right? You, and some guys who works for a restaurant?"

"Yep!" the dark-haired boy chirped. "Me and Sanji, that's it, and I really want another roomie, 'cuz Sanji's cool n' all, but he's pretty much never here, and─"

Zoro's hand shot out and he clamped it tightly around the boy's mouth. "If I'm gonna live here, you really need to do less of that."

The kid's dark eyes widened to the size of dinner platters, and Zoro swore he saw stars twinkling just overhead. The younger one gripped the swordsman's wrist, lips moving awkwardly against Zoro's palm as he continued to talk around the obstruction.

"Mmmsdhhe? Mmssskdblsngh?"

"What?" Zoro asked, yanking his hand away.

"You're really gonna live here!" the boy cried.

"Not like I've got anywhere better to go," he said, realizing with some amount of relief that having roommates meant he didn't have to pay all the rent. "Can't give you any two week's advance or anything, though, sorry. Flat broke."

"Aw, that's cool, I barely bring anything in anyway. I don't even have a job!"

"Why not?"

The skinny boy crossed his arms, gazing stoutly at Zoro. "Don't want one!"

Zoro looked at him a moment, and just shrugged. "Whatever suits you, I guess. What do you do for money, though?"

It was the kid's turn to shrug. "Just stuff; whatever people'll pay me for, like carrying stuff for them." He shrugged again, signaling the end of what the kid seemed to deem as a particularly boring topic.

Zoro glanced around the apartment again; it wasn't a bad place, was actually pretty big, and the people who lived here seemed low-maintenance and easy-going, or so he assessed from the state of things in the room. There was definitely a sense of order to all the random, mish-mashed articles of clothes and belongings he saw littering the place, but nothing OCD, like all the cabinet drawers labeled or some shit. Pretty much his kind of place, minus the other two people living there.

"So, which room is mine?"

"Usopp's was the one on the right, over there," the kid said, pointing at the far side of the apartment room. "No one's used it since, unless someone gets too drunk and passes out. Usopp comes over a lot, but he doesn't stay the night. The one next to Usopp's is mine, and this one right here," he said, pointing to the door just beside the kitchen, "is Sanji's. You probably wanna stay clear of that room, Sanji can get kinda scary if he thinks someone's been messing with his stuff."

Zoro shrugged mentally. Whatever. He'd lived with just about every conceivable type of weirdo and personality quirk; he was sure he could handle these guys. Moving further into the room, he dumped his duffel and carefully laid his sword case beside it, near the kitchen counter, and went instantly for the fridge.

"Got any booze in this place?" he asked as the dark-haired kid bounded excitedly after him.

"Naw, just wine, water, and soda."

_Well, fuck. That's something that's gonna change now that I'm living here._ Zoro snagged a Coke and looked at the kid over his shoulder. "Want one?"

"Sure!" he cried, and Zoro had a feeling he'd regret giving that spaz any more sugar or (shudder) caffeine. But again, he simply shrugged off the sentiment, grabbed two cans, and closed the fridge, handing one of the cool drinks to the boy practically vibrating behind him.

_Oh this is a bad, bad idea…_

"Hee hee…" the younger one laughed, cracking the can open and taking a huge gulp, grabbing the straw hat on his head to keep it from falling off.

_Hmmm…straw hat…_

"Oi," Zoro said, watching the boy wrinkle his nose at the fizzy beverage. "Why do you have a pirate flag hanging from the fire escape?"

He was answered with another enormous grin and a confident little cackle. "'Cuz one day I'm gonna get a boat and go sailing all over the world, like a real pirate!"

Zoro blinked.

Luffy continued to grin.

"A pirate?"

"Heehee! Yep! Just like my friend Shanks!"

"You have a friend who's a pirate?"

"Sorta." The boy shoved a finger in his nose. "He sails around the world n' stuff. Dunno what he actually does. He says it's a lot of fun. Lots of freedom, and stuff; no one telling you what to do, or how to live your life. And I'm gonna do that too!" He ended with another ear-to-ear grin that held nothing back.

Zoro just watched him a second, wondering if this kid was unbelievably confident, or certifiably insane. But there was something about that gleam in his eye. There was no doubt that what he planned do with his life was unrealistic, childish, and really just stupid. And there was also no doubt that kid meant every naïve, idiotic word of it. Serious without being serious. A very weird person, Zoro had to admit, and he probably would have laughed right in the kid's face, except that he knew for a fact that his eyes held the same, burning gleam whenever he talked about his own dream, which admittedly wasn't often. People didn't seem to have much interest in dreams anymore. Coincidentally, Zoro didn't have much interest in people. And he knew, somehow, that if he ever felt like telling this kid what his dream was ─ which at the moment he didn't really ─ the kid wouldn't laugh at him, either.

He'd probably just cackle his triumphant, little cackle, and grin some more.

"Sounds adventurous," Zoro said after a moment, taking a sip of Coke before heading towards the couch in the living room that had been tempting him since he walked in the door. He collapsed into the surprisingly soft cushions with a groan of pleasure, the kid flopping beside him, sloshing his soda and jabbering excitedly.

"It will be! I'll see all the islands, and hunt for buried treasure, and save countries! And I'm gonna take all my friends with me, 'cuz I'll need a crew and…hey!" the boy cried suddenly, face lunging into Zoro's. "Wanna come with? You live here now, so you're nakama! You can come with me when I become a pirate!"

He eyed the kid a moment, taking a measured sip of cola. "What's your name?"

The kid blinked, a little confused by the switch of topic, but forgot about it the next second. "I'm Luffy! Nice to meet ya!"

"Zoro," he said, offering his hand which Luffy grabbed and shook vigorously.

"Welcome to the Merry Sun Apartments, Zoro!"

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Zoro and Luffy talked and drank soda well into the night, the solitary street lamp on their block pouring light feebly through the multitude of windows behind them. One window was cracked open to let in the cool, autumn air, the sound of the pirate flag flapping in the breeze outside and passing cars as their background music. Although, it was probably more accurate to say that they didn't talk for hours so much as Luffy jabbered endlessly about anything and everything that came to mind, while Zoro listened and answered the occasional question Luffy asked whenever he forgot what he'd been talking about.

"So, how long've you lived in New York?"

Zoro finished off his fifth Coke with a low belch, and said, "About five hours."

Luffy laughed, like he did pretty much any time Zoro said something. "Really? Where'd you live before?"

"I had a place in Philadelphia before this; old, dingy apartment less than half this size."

"Why'd you leave?"

"Felt like livin' somewhere else."

"So you came here 'cuz you like New York?"

"Nope, hate the place."

"So why move some place you hate?"

"'Cuz it's somewhere else."

Again Luffy laughed, slapping Zoro's arm and rocking slightly. "You're funny, Zoro! I'm glad you're gonna live here!"

"Hnnn…" Zoro lulled, debating whether the pain in his abdomen was enough to coax his lazing ass off the couch and find the toilet. After a few more minutes of being too distracted by the discomfort to pay attention to the hyper-active kid next to him ─ not that he'd been paying a hell of a lot of attention before ─ he cut in with, "Oi, where's the bathroom in this place?"

The dark-haired boy blinked owlishly again, and Zoro could practically hear the rusty gears sputtering in his unused brain. "Hm? The bathroom? It's over there, ta the right of your room."

Zoro nodded, stood, and turned right, heading towards the door beside the kitchen. He'd almost reached the handle when the boy called out, "Wait, where are you going, I said it was over there!" Zoro turned to see the kid pointing in the complete opposite direction. He about-faced, wordlessly walking to the other side of the apartment. He reached for the handle again, to be stopped by, "No, the _right_ side, the _right_, not the left!" So, muttering only a little, Zoro shuffled to the right, opened the door, and stepped into what was ─ thankfully ─ the bathroom, without any more interruption, other than the sound of hysterical laughter at his back. He was determined not to give a shit.

But minutes later, when Zoro emerged from the bathroom, wiping his damp hands on the thighs of his pants, to see that the boy was rolling around on the couch, still laughing himself sick, he growled low and not-so-gently shoved the boy over for a spot on the sofa. "All right already, enough. It wasn't that funny."

"Yes it was!" Luffy gasped, dissolving into giggles the next second. "You're kinda dumb, aren't you?"

"Shut up!" Zoro yelled, nudging him roughly again, but the boy just laughed harder. He refused to admit that heat was creeping up his neck just then. And if it was, then it was infuriated heat, surely. A million miles away from embarrassed. Yeah.

"Tch, whatever."

"How─" broke off for more snickers, "How did you manage to find this building? You couldn't even find the bathroom!"

Zoro scowled further, not happy to be reminded of his strange encounter earlier that day. "Some weird girl I saw on the street. Showed her the ad and said I needed directions, so she walked me here. She was going this way anyhow."

"Weird girl?" Luffy asked.

"Yeah, she sounded like she might know you. Or know of you. Either way, she said if I needed help getting a good price to say that, 'Diamond' sent me."

It was a good thing Luffy'd already finished his Coke, because if he'd still been drinking, most of the beverage would have ended up on Zoro's face. The kid sputtered, half coughing and half laughing uncontrollably. He clutched his sides, legs flailing as he guffawed himself stupid. Again.

"Oi," Zoro said, "what the fuck's so funny now?"

"Y-you met 'Diamond'!?" Luffy cried.

The older man arched an eyebrow. "Yeah. So what?"

"Sh-she's ─ haha! ─ _she's_ my brother Ace!"

For a moment the only sound in the apartment was Luffy's gasping shrieks of mirth, while a catatonic Zoro simply blinked at the spasming boy. The words sunk in slowly, followed by the memories of the woman's swaying hips in a tight mini-skirt, sharp spike heels making her taller than Zoro, the feel of her nonexistent breasts flush with Zoro's chest as she innocently kissed his cheek.

…_.ho….ly…__**SHIT**__!_

"That was a fucking guy!?" Zoro screamed in a shocked-but-manly way.

"Yeah!" Luffy laughed. "Fooled you, didn't he?"

He shivered slightly, frowning at the bizarre memories ─ that seemed even more bizarre now ─ plaguing his mind.

"So your bother's a cross-dresser?"

"Naw, not really," the boy said, a few more giggles still in him . "He just likes to see the look on guy's faces when they find out he's not actually a girl! Sort of a weird hobby."

"Really weird," Zoro muttered, again disappointed that there wasn't any beer in the apartment. "He doesn't stay here?"

"Nah, Ace has his own place over in Arizona. He shows up in New York kinda randomly; I think he hitch-hikes. He says he only comes to see me and my friends, but I think he's got somebody, 'cuz he doesn't spend all his time around here."

"Hn."

Despite his massive caffeine intake, Zoro couldn't seem to keep his eyes open for too much longer. The aftermath of that rather unpleasant surprise had brought back all the exhaustion of travelling with full force, and every time he blinked now, his eyes would cross in a valiant attempt to stay closed. It had been such a long, semi-shitty day, and Zoro's brain was tired of operating. And since there was no booze, he might as well not be awake. And sleep sounded like a really, really good idea…

"Oi, don't nod off!" the boy cried, realizing half-way through some bullshit monologue about sausage that he was losing his audience. "You just got here, you can't be tired yet! I still need to tell you about all the great places to eat, like that one place over on Avenue B, it's got steaks the size of two pumpkins, and it's─"

"─Luffy?" Zoro asked, closing his eyes and hunkering down in the couch cushions.

"Yeah?"

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"Would you like to turn twenty some day?"

"Well, yeah. 'Cuz then I'd be one year closer to drinking, even though I don't really like beer too much. Or wine. Or really any of that stuff."

"If you're gonna turn twenty, I've got some advice."

There was a little squeak as the weight on the couch shifted, and a warm breath ghosting over Zoro's face, as the kid leaned in and asked excitedly, "Really? Like what?"

Zoro took a deep breath and arched his neck a little closer to him. "Like…SHUT THE HELL UP AND LET ME SLEEP, DAMMIT!" he yelled, and then Luffy yelled, "AAAAAAAAAAH!!" and flew backwards, flopping on the cushions.

"Ahhh, I'm death! I'm death, I'll never be able to hear again!! AAAH!"

"Luffy?"

"What?"

"…you're not deaf. You're not death, either, you're fine."

"…really? Oh good, I got scared for a second that─hey! Zoro, you meanie! That freaked me out!"

"Can you shut up for two seconds!"

"But Zoro~~~~~!" the boy whined, and he could practically hear the pout, 'cuz like hell was he gonna bother opening his eyes again. "I wanna talk some more! Sanji doesn't get back for two days, and no one's talked with me for _ages_!"

_I can't imagine why…_

"Look," Zoro grunted. "I'll still be here tomorrow. I'll talk to you then. Just let me sleep."

"Oh…okay, Zoro…"

And then, like a blessing straight from some faceless deity ─ that Zoro didn't believe in anyway ─ silence descended in the large room, and he could finally feel the tendrils of sweet unconsciousness wrapping around his mind, pulling him into a deep, warm abyss of rest and relaxation. Tense muscles uncoiled, and Zoro allowed himself to be carried off into that blissful sleep. This wasn't so bad. Living with this guy would probably be pretty easy. Yeah. This wasn't bad….this….

"Hey! You didn't even _give_ me advice about turning twenty! You lied, Zoro! That's not nice, you don't lie to nakama, nakama always tell the truth, no matter what, you need to learn to be a better nakama, because nakama─"

"Where the _fuck_ is your off-switch!"

This would take some getting used to.

* * *

Hey y'all! I'm back! This story isn't finished yet, and it gets long. I ain't shittin' you. Some of these chapter are nigh on twenty pages long, so says my Microsoft Word program. It'll get horrifying. Please Enjoy. :)


	2. For the Want of Sleep

Sanji grumbled unpleasantly around his cigarette as he climbed out of the taxi cab parked at the curb, dragging his suitcase with him. Seriously, was every cab driver in town a foreigner or a pervert? Jesus Christ, if Sanji'd had to listen to one more, "I totally fucked this hot chick" story, he'd have smashed his foot through the goddamn plexi-glass divider and pummeled the bastard all the way to hell.

"Oi, where's my tip!" the bastard cried, fisting the wad of cash the blonde had chucked at him.

The cook was tired, sore, and in no fucking mood for this. "Listen, asshole," he growled, leaning into the open passenger window, "a tip is something you earn, not something you expect. And since I find you a repulsive swine, I didn't think you deserved anything more. But if you want a tip so bad, I'll give you one." Dramatic pause as Sanji slowly blew a stream of smoke into the car, grinning as the man coughed. "The tip is: if we ever see each other again…run. 'Cuz I'll kick your ugly fucking face in, you misogynistic shithead!"

Then Sanji spat, his lit cigarette arching gracefully through the air, before landing in the cabbie's lap. The cook grabbed up his luggage and walked up the stoop to the front door, a lightness to his step and a nasty chuckle on his lips as he listened to the shrieks of the cab driver, and the occasional blare of a horn as the poor fucker squirmed and jerked and tried to find the burning stick. The day wasn't a total loss, after all.

He stumbled up the stairs a few times and got his feet caught in some fucking pizza box, but he was too tired to care, and really, basic pollution was not something new with this place. It was a good thing he was such a witty charmer of the ladies, because he would've been mortified to bring such beauty into a pathetic slop-heap like this. Of course, he didn't often end up at _their_ places, either, but he was sure their defenses were weakening. Baby steps, that's all it was.

Sanji fit his key in the door to his apartment, and was once more unsurprised to find it already unlocked. He'd only told Luffy to lock it at night maybe three, four thousand times, tops. How could he ever have expected it to sink into that mushy head? Despairing at the tragedy that was his life, Sanji slid the door open with his foot, pushed the suitcase into the foyer, and slid the door closed again.

He made his way wearily into his room, kicking his suitcase into a corner. And then he simply stood there, glowering at his bed. He was tired, fucking _exhausted_, and he knew he should get to bed, knew he had to wake his ass up at seven and go to work, even _if_ his flight got bumped up two days ahead of schedule, 'cuz fuck knew he was the only one bringing any money into this shit hole, and the blonde swore to _god_ he'd cut his hand off if they had to beg the lovely Vivi for some extra cash _one more time_, and yet….he just didn't feel like sleeping. Which, given his current condition, seemed like a pretty stupid reason not to go to sleep, but there it was: he just didn't want to.

So, with a heavy sigh, Sanji changed into some sweats, and ambled back out into the apartment, heading for the kitchen. Nothing cured insomnia like getting buzzed. And if memory served, there should still be half a bottle of Ravenswood zinfandel in the wine rack. God knows Luffy won't touch the shit, being far too young for his tastes to have matured enough to appreciate such a cultured drink. Plus Sanji would kick his ass if he even tried. The high-end booze was reserved for the one who made any fucking money, and of course the lovely ladies.

Sanji shuffled carefully into the kitchen, not wanting to turn any lights on because his eyes were finally starting to adjust to the dark. But he never stumbled in his kitchen, anyway; it was his pride, his life, his soul. Sanji knew his kitchen better than he knew the lines of his own face, and he _never _faltered in his domain. Although he did trip a bit getting there, stubbing his toe on the metal table that served as both kitchen counter and breakfast buffet, cursing and hobbling as he went. He gimped his way towards the wine rack Usopp had built them a few years ago, reaching out for the single bottle on the bottom rung, and he would have gotten it without incident, if a loud, _violently_ loud noise – possibly the most heinous snore in the history of snores – hadn't torn through the apartment just then, jarring Sanji out of his stupor.

The blonde whipped back around, eyes piercing hard through the dark, staring into the living room where the noise came from. It wasn't odd at all that Luffy might be sleeping on the couch. He often passed out after playing video games all night long, hands still wrapped tightly around the controller with the T.V. blaring. Sanji had come home from work late to find the boy with his legs draped over the couch, and his face smashed into the orange carpet many, many a time. It wasn't a strange occurrence at all for Luffy to be asleep in the living room.

Except that Luffy didn't snore.

He thought for a moment that it might be Ace, but dismissed that idea immediately. Ace always slept in Luffy's bed when he was in town, and besides, if he did snore, Ace didn't snore like _that_. In fact, Sanji was pretty sure he'd never heard anyone snore that unbelievably loud before in his life. It sounded like shrieking banshees having a wicked chain-saw fight, and the blonde was surprised that whoever the fuck it was hadn't woken himself up with that shitty-awful racket. But the mystery man's sleeping habits were not really of Sanji's concern. His main concern at the moment was kicking a hole in the intruder's head and throwing him out the goddamn window. Luffy may be inept, but _no one_ was breaking into Sanji Blackleg's apartment and getting away with it!

Very cautiously, he slipped back around the table, moving soundlessly across the room towards the couch, where the horrific sound was coming from. Although doing so didn't make much sense, 'cuz the stranger hadn't woken up when Sanji had stubbed his toe and started swearing, but now the cook's fighting instincts were kicking in; he was the hunter, this bastard was his prey.

Light from a half-moon outside drenched the floor boards, casting long shadows across the apartment as Sanji carefully stalked forward, the noise growing louder the nearer he got. He could see the guy, not very clearly, but it was definitely a rather large man, sprawled across the couch, asleep, with what looked like a sack strapped across his midsection, no doubt full of pilfered valuables. Anger flared in Sanji's gut; this was _his_ fucking apartment, and it'd be a cold day in hell before he let some asshole-homeless-robber make off with _his_ shit. With a low growl, Sanji loomed over the intruder, glaring evilly as he slowly raised his leg above his head.

This fucker was gonna die…

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There wasn't much of anything that could pull Zoro from the comfortable throws of deep sleep. He often ignored pokes, jabs, punches, threats of death, loud screeching sounds, hurricanes. Nothing short of the hand of God could rouse him when Zoro did not want to be roused.

The hand of God…and apparently one devilishly-well-placed kick.

Pain ripped through his stomach like a gunshot, not quite as sharp, but definitely as debilitating. Zoro grunted, disoriented for only a second, before rolling off the couch on to his feet to better defend himself from whoever-the-fuck, or he would have, if a certain dark-haired boy hadn't wrapped himself around the swordsman's waist in the middle of the night. His legs tangled, and Zoro hit the ground with another grunt, Luffy flopping uselessly beside him. What the fuck was going on, exactly? Was someone breaking in? Well, that wasn't gonna work; Zoro just moved in, it was way too annoying to get robbed so soon. So he figured he'd just take care of this asshole without messing around. No point in waking Luffy up.

A swift jerk disengaged the rubbery limbs from his lower half, and then he was on his feet, eyes hunting in the dark for his assailant, sensing out their position, _ready_ for the fight – and then he got kicked in the jaw. Hard. As in "knocked-off-his-feet-and-sent-flying-across-the-room" hard.

_Fuck, I think that one broke something_, Zoro thought, idly rubbing his face that was quickly swelling. Rapid footsteps followed him, thumping over the hardwood floor, a powerful blow careening towards him, faster than anything he'd seen out of the underground arenas. But Zoro didn't go easy on anyone, especially cowardly fuckers who attack a man unawares.

He leapt into a crouch, forearm up and already blocking the bare foot that swooped in low for another head shot. Skin and muscle collided hard, jarring, and Zoro allowed half a second of surprise at just how tough this son-of-a-bitch was before surging upward, fist connecting punishingly with an angular jaw. The attacker flung through the air and landed with a _bang_ on the hardwood floor, coughing and swearing violently, slower to get up than Zoro had been. Oh well. His loss was Zoro's gain. The swordsman wasted no time; he was on his feet in a heartbeat, pouncing on the bastard and wrestling him to the ground, landing blow after blow against his chest and the side of his head.

_He can't take much more of this,_ Zoro thought evilly, chuckling darkly as thin fingers gripped mercilessly at the arm holding the robber down.

_No one's held out this long…no one __**can**_…

That's what he thought anyway.

Before he was sent flipping over himself by powerful legs that he'd been stupid enough to ignore.

Back slamming on the floor hard enough to knock the air out of him, Zoro choked slightly, wondering who, exactly, this jackass was. This fight was nowhere near as easy as it should have been. He was getting weak; _soft_, even. He had to be. There was no way this guy was good enough to _actually_ fuck with him.

_And yet,_ Zoro mused as the heel of foot came hurtling down on him like a scythe, _this asshole's doing a great fucking job of it…_

…_I __**really**__ don't want to have to get my swords…_

A split second before the hit could crack Zoro's head open, he rolled to the left, marveling slightly when he heard the tell-tale crunch of something breaking through wood, and the venomous hiss of, "Fucker!" that followed.

Rushing forward, Zoro grabbed both of the guy's ankles and yanked them straight out from under him, tossing him flat on his back once more. Without hesitating, he launched in for another pounce, only to be stopped by those _fucking legs_ again, bowing out and spinning like blades in a goddamned blender, two quick, painful kicks barreling into the same spot already bruising on Zoro's jaw, and he swore he saw stars on that one.

He definitely recognized the oh-so-familiar tang of blood fill is mouth.

_Been a while since I tasted that…_

He spat out a gob of the stuff, feeling something displaced on the left side of his face, but no time to check, 'cuz another kick was careening towards him, and this fight was starting to get to him. As he stood there, blocking those savage blows, losing ground with every one, Zoro had to admit, it'd been a while since he fought someone this good. It was exhilarating, in a way. Kind of what he figured it'd be like to fight that man again. Much more difficult, yes, but he'd be stronger by then. He'd be ready. At the moment, however, there was a bastard raining hate-fueled carnage on him, and who just so happened to have given him an attractive opening…

Zoro swung his fist hard into an unprotected gut, following it up with a fierce elbow to the back of a neck. The guy collapsed to his knees, strangling out a breathless cough, and Zoro backed up a pace, waiting for the next onslaught. His attacker raised his head carefully, wincing at the pain he no doubt felt, and in the pale moonlight falling in from the large windows behind them, Zoro could clearly see a look of anger and total confusion written across that flushed face.

He merely smirked back in challenge.

The blonde-haired man – because he _was_ blonde, Zoro now saw – blinked, a fucking weird-ass, curled eyebrow arching in question, but in the end, the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly too, and then he was on his feet, low growl and charging Zoro fearlessly, almost eagerly.

He didn't know when exactly it happened, but at some point during this fight, it had stopped being about attacking and defending – nothing to do with anger or hatred.

Now, it was a competition. A _game_. Zoro's kind of game.

And for once, he actually had someone to play it with him.

This was powerful. This was intense. This was electric and addicting and something totally new, and ─

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING WHEN I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!!!???"

A fist came swinging out of nowhere, Zoro saw it headed straight for the back of the robber's head, and if the other's look of shock was anything to go by, he figured there was another one aiming at him. Sure enough, a solid punch landed at the back of his skull, rattling his brain, more strength than those skinny arms should allow, and just in case his head wasn't already damaged enough, both he and the robber were sent knocking into each other, foreheads cracking together with a sickening sound.

They both fell to the floor in a heap, clutching their heads and groaning.

"Luffy, what the fuck!?" they yelled in chorus.

Then they froze. And sloooooowly turned to look at each other.

A lamp flicked on suddenly, stinging Zoro's eyes and making his pummeled skull ache unpleasantly. Footsteps walked closer, and the unmistakable, jabbering voice of Luffy met his ears.

"What the hell was going on, anyway? You were making a crazy racket!"

"Luffy, this fucker broke into the apartment and tried to rob us, 'cuz _you_ fucking forgot to lock the door again!" the guy-who-was-a-robber-maybe spat at the dark-haired boy, rubbing at his eyes.

Zoro was starting to focus again; Luffy stood before him, arms crossed, brow comically furrowed in confusion. He was looking at Zoro's attacker, who sat hunched over on the ground a few feet away, eyes still clenched tightly shut against the intrusion of light. Blonde bangs obscured his left eye, but the other was uncovered, and decorated with what Zoro had previously assumed was a trick of the shadows – but no, this weirdo really did have the most absurd, curlicue eyebrow the swordsman had ever seen in his life.

Luffy blinked just then, face going totally blank, before he grinned widely again.

"Oi Sanji! When did you get back? I though you weren't coming home for two more days!"

_Sanji…wait, wasn't that the other guy who's supposed to live here? Well, shit…_Zoro thought, feeling around in his mouth to check for damage.

The blonde called Sanji just sighed, pulling a carton of cigarettes and a lighter out of…out of his _pajamas_? Who the fuck carries that shit in their _pajamas_?

He lit up and took a deep draw before saying, "Negotiations went by faster than I figured. Didn't really feel like hanging around in Phoenix any longer than I had to, so I bit the bullet and got an earlier flight." He paused, letting out another stream of smoke. "I got back about a half hour ago, when I heard some awful fucking noise in the living room and figured someone broke in. I saw that asshole sleeping on the couch," and here he jabbed his cigarette at Zoro, who merely glared back, "and figured he was robbing us. So I kicked his ass."

"Like fuck you did," the swordsman grunted, pulling out a molar that got knocked loose. "You got some lucky pot shots in 'cuz you attack a man unawares. Don't pat yourself on the back for being a goddamned coward."

Red rage stained Sanji's pale cheeks. "…the fuck did you say, asshole?"

"You heard me," Zoro pressed, a bit surprised that he was baiting this guy all over again, actually _hoping_ for another fight.

"I'll make you eat those words, you…you…who the fuck are you, anyway?" Sanji asked, frowning harder. "Why the hell are you here?"

Luffy cackled his little triumphant cackle, grinning like a loon, and Zoro was starting to realize that's how he pretty much always looked.

"He's our new nakama! He moved in this afternoon! His name's Zoro, isn't that awesome!?"

The look on Sanji's face was pretty damn funny, Zoro had to admit; almost like the idiot couldn't decide if he was relieved, skeptical, amused…but he eventually landed on pissed off.

The blonde reared up off the floor, catching Luffy's chin in a vicious kick.

"You let some strange fucker move in, and you _didn't wait for me_!? Fuck it, I live here too, Luffy!" he shouted, puffing in anger.

The boy whined slightly and rubbed the spot he'd been hit. "But Sanji~~~~~! Zoro's really cool! He has green hair!"

_That asshole let me move in 'cuz of my __**hair color**__!?_

But when Zoro watched the boy rock back and forth on his heels, pinky shoved up his nose as though he'd already forgotten what was going on, he figured he shouldn't really be surprised.

"And does Mr. Cool-Zoro have a fucking job? Can he help with the rent? Buy groceries? Fix shit around the apartment?"

"No, but…Sanji, he has GREEN HAIR! That's AWESOME!"

"You're a dumbass!" Sanji cried, roundhousing the younger man across the room. Then he suddenly rounded on Zoro. "How'd you find out about the empty room?"

The swordsman gave thought to just not answering the bastard, 'cuz he figured pissing him off would get him another fight, which he did want, but as he idly checked his skull for dents, he remembered how fucking tired he was, and he suddenly didn't feel like fucking around. More than fighting right now, Zoro just wanted to go back to sleep.

"Ad in _The Village Voice_," he said, standing up and cracking his neck.

If he thought Sanji'd been pissed a few minutes ago, it was nothing compared to the demonic glare he now leveled at Luffy.

"You put an ad…in _The Village Voice_?" he growled.

"Well yeah. I wanted people to know we had an empty room."

"What the hell has Nami-swan said about advertising in unrespectable publications!" the blonde screamed, kicking Luffy in the head again.

The boy pouted. "She said it'll only encourage the vagu…vaguer…vagaru…uhh…"

"Vagrants?" Zoro offered, since the boy seemed to be having problems.

"Yeah!" He smiled, pointing at Zoro. "That's what Nami said! No vagrants! But Zoro's not vague. I mean, he's got green hair after all ─"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT THE GREEN HAIR!"

Zoro sighed wearily, rubbing his tired, aching eyes. This argument probably wouldn't end anytime soon. Shit. He really wanted to sleep.

"Listen, blondie," he started, silencing the screaming match for a second, "yeah the kid probably should have waited to talk to you about it, but I'm gonna live here whether you like it or not. I can find a job easy, I can do minor maintenance shit around the apartment, so why don't you quit your bitching and we'll talk about it tomorrow?"

With that, Zoro ambled over to the kitchen counter, grabbed up his duffel and sword case, and marched into his new bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him, leaving a stunned Sanji to jabber furiously at the closed door.

"Hee hee! Isn't he great, Sanji?" Luffy asked, looking proud of something.

The cook gnawed his cigarette and muttered, "Shitty marimo-head," before mule-kicking Luffy across the apartment again, and heading to his own bed.

He had to work tomorrow, goddamnit.


	3. Hate as an Art Form

Sanji hated him already. It was just as simple as that. Sanji hated everything about him, not that he actually _knew_ anything about him, but he was certain he would hate whatever it was he did come to learn.

The bastard snored too loud. Luffy didn't mind, 'cuz he's fucking _Luffy_, but Sanji couldn't drown out the shitty racket at all that night, and he was on the other side of the apartment! That's just fucking wrong. And it really didn't help that Sanji only had about four hours to sleep that night, anyway, before he had to wake his ass up and drag himself into the kitchen to make breakfast before heading to work.

But what _really_ got his day off to the shittiest start possible was seeing the damage from their fight in the clarity of day time. The living room was fucked up! Some shit was broken, there was a surprisingly large spot of blood on the floor that the green-haired asshole had spat out last night, not to mention the hole in the wood from where Sanji's heel missed the fucker's head. He rather regretted the fact, now.

But he sighed, vein throbbing slightly in his forehead, and he tried not to think about how he'd have to clean all this up when he got back from work that night. He didn't trust that bastard for one second, and Luffy didn't even know howto _hold_ a broom.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He really wanted to kill Luffy, sometimes. Letting some violent, infuriating bastard move in without evening consulting Sanji first! If the dim-witted kid wasn't so well loved by their group of friends, Sanji would have made sure that there were two empty rooms to be filled.

Fucking moss-headed prick. Sanji hated him already. Hated that stupid face, which had been pretty well bruised up the night before, and that did serve to make him feel a bit better.

Hated his ridiculous green hair. Who the fuck has green hair, anyway? Did he dye it? Was he just a freak? Fuck that hair. It pissed Sanji off.

Hated his stupid Army duffel. Carrying it around like he was some war hero. Fuck that. Asshole probably never did anything worthwhile in his entire life. Sanji knew the type. He'd seen it before. Fucking broke-ass transient, wandering around, probably had some drug addiction or was running from the cops.

Fucking jackass.

Hated that black case he carried into his room last night. Looked like a weapons case. Sanji bet he had a bunch of illegal guns and hunting knives and shit in there. Fucker was probably a murderer, or maybe some psycho who kept little kids locked up in the basement and tortured them. He looked like the type. Sanji'd seen it before. Or not, but he looked like it, anyway.

Fucking hated his stupid boots.

Hated the fact that he came home from work that day tired, sweaty, and sore all over the goddamn place, only to find all the dishes washed and put away, the broken shit swept up, the splatter of blood wiped clean, and all the furniture back in place…

…and Luffy didn't even know how to hold a broom…

But what he really, _really_ hated was that he couldn't even _see_ where the hole in the floor had been…

* * *

Hey-o! Yes, posting in twos again! No guarantee that I'll keep that up, but I know for a fact that this chapter is criminally short, so I decided to go ahead and post CH.4, so people don't scream at me like they did on LJ. And don't worry about me keeping with this story: I already have 16 chapters written up, and 17 is in the works. And it's not even half-way over yet, I don't think. And this is the shortest chapter. Seriously. After CH.11, or so, things start getting bizarrely long. Insanely long. Just you wait!


	4. Dreams, and Their Dreaming Dreamers

The Great Usopp had braved many fierce and terrible dangers in his long, illustrious career of being totally awesome. Not a single man alive knew more about the grueling dangers of warfare, or the horrors of staring down a loaded gun, or knew the weighty responsibility of carrying the fate of the world on his shoulders. The Great Usopp was a man among men; the ideal warrior that all others aspired to be. He had awed thousands with his harrowing tales of true-life adventure, leaving his audience gasping and applauding for more.

It was a gift, really…

"So you're a graphic designer?"

…a gift that some people just didn't appreciate.

"Uh…y-yeah, I guess you could say that. S-some would consider it, y'know, graphical-art-of-the-new-century, but I guess 'graphic designer' works…"

He'd dropped by the old apartment to check on Luffy and Sanji, since he hadn't seen them in a while – and it was weird at home with Kaya visiting her parents at Virginia Beach for a few weeks, but the Great Usopp never feels _lonely_ – but instead of seeing his old buddies, he ended up alone in the room with this scary-looking-guy he'd never met before, who claims to be the new roommate.

He was a big guy, although Usopp had fought bigger; tall, with tanned skin, dark eyes, deep green hair, and three gold, dangle earrings in his left ear. The kind of guy one usually sees bouncing bars in shady neighborhoods. He had a fierce look – not that the Great Usopp was _afraid_ – but he sort of wished Sanji and Luffy would come home soon.

Really soon.

…cuzhehasn'tseentheminawhile…

"Oi, what are you so nervous for?"

"NERVOUS!?" Usopp shouted, startled out of his very manly thoughts. "Wh-who's nervous!? I'm not nervous! What would ever give you that idea!? I'm perfectly fine! HA HA!"

The strange man rolled his eyes, the deep frown that wrinkled his forehead smoothing out a fraction.

"I didn't kill them, if that's what you're worried about."

Usopp's powerful, manly heart hiccupped a bit. "No!" he squeaked. "No, I wasn't thinking that! Nothing like that! Nothing at all, in fact! HA HA!"

_Shit, he saw right through me! Will this be the last epic adventure of the Great Usopp!?_

"Do you like your job? Your…graphical-design-whatever job?"

_Yes, this will surely be the tragic end of the wonderful, the magnificent, the Great U_—"Wait, what?" Usopp asked

"Your job. Do you like it?"

Now Usopp frowned slightly, confused and caught off guard. Was this big, mean, scary guy trying to make…_small talk_? Was he making fun of him? Because Usopp wouldn't stand for that! He had pride as a man, dammit, and he wasn't about to let some muscled-up fiend mock what he did for a living! Sure it wasn't the greatest, most exciting job ever, but it made money, and he could keep Kaya happy, and that's all that mattered, really! How dare this bastard belittle that, just because he was probably stronger than Usopp. A little stronger, anyway…

"Yeah, I like my job," the designer said defensively. "It pays the bills, and I've always wanted to be an artist. It's a great job! Of course I like it!"

"No you don't."

Usopp paused, staring hard at the man reclining easily in the chair across from him. What did he mean, 'No you don't'? Of course Usopp liked his job. It was a perfectly fine job! How could this insensitive jerk just sit there all calm, watching him with those creepy eyes, and tell him straight to his face he was lying about liking his job? What the hell did he know, anyway? He didn't know a damn thing about Usopp! He didn't know what his dreams were, what drove him, what inspired him! He didn't know anything!

…_so then…how did he know I was lying…?_

Gripping the knees of his ink-stained jeans, Usopp hung his head slightly, glaring at the floor.

"What do you really want to do?"

"It's none of your business," Usopp muttered.

"So what?" the man grunted, sounding annoyed.

He sighed, stealing his conviction, knowing this jerk would just laugh at him anyway, like everyone always did. But he was used to it by now. There was nothing this guy could say that Usopp hadn't already heard.

"I want to draw and write my own comic books!"

A brief pause. Then, "So why don't you?"

All right, so Usopp had never heard _that_ one before. He choked on his spit, gapping and staring at the man who still watched him with those severe, utterly serious eyes. There wasn't a trace of humor in them. He honestly wanted to know.

"W-…well 'cuz, y'know…it costs money and stuff, to buy the right equipment. And I'd need a publishing deal. And an editor. And a studio. And then people would have to actually buy it. And what if they don't? I can't make money that way. It won't put food on the table. How am I supposed to take care of a family, or something, if I can't support them?"

"So what if people don't buy it?"

Usopp blinked. And again.

"Wha-?"

"Your dream is to draw and write your own comics. You never said you had to be successful."

"Well yeah, but, how could I make a living off of it if no one buys it?"

"If you spend your life doing what makes you truly happy, then things just sort of take care of themselves."

Usopp watched with slightly slack jaw as the man stood from the chair then, heading into the kitchen. He heard the refrigerator door open, and the call of, "Oi, want something?"

"S-sure."

_If you spend your life doing what makes you truly happy, then things just sort of take care of themselves…_

Could that really be true? If he were to pursue his dream, would the cosmos just naturally align in his favor? Would he have to worry about money to fend for himself and Kaya? To pay the bills? Taxes? Could it really be as easy as this guy says it is?

Just as the man handed the dazed Usopp a soda, the front door slid open, and Luffy bounded in, grinning madly and carrying several bags of groceries, as Sanji screamed at him not to drop anything. The man told them they had a visitor. Both looked over to see Usopp, smiling wide, and Luffy launched himself at the curly-haired man, just like old times.

"Usopp!" the boy cried. "We haven't seen you in _forever!_ Are you having fun with Kaya!? Have you eaten any good food lately!? Hey!" The boy's eyes lit up suddenly, and he spun around to grab the tall man by the neck, dragging him closer to the couch. "Have you met Zoro yet? He's our new nakama! Isn't he cool!"

Usopp looked from Luffy's delighted face, as though he were showing off some new treasure, to the man's scowl of irritation, although he didn't seem too bothered.

"He's not cool, he's a goddamn marimo asshole," Sanji grumbled from the kitchen.

"Fuck off, Curly-cue!" the man growled.

Luffy just laughed.

Eventually Usopp did too. "Zoro, huh?" he asked, holding out his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Che," Zoro snorted, smirking but grasping Usopp's hand anyway. "What's one more crazy bastard, eh?"

"YAY! Usopp's met Zoro! Let's celebrate! SANJI! I WANT MEAT!"

"SHUT THE HELL UP AND WAIT FOR IT!"

Usopp was glad some things never changed. Stability was a comforting thing, especially now.

Because, he decided as he watched utter chaos unfold in the apartment, he was finally going to make some changes in his life. He was going after his dream. If these three crazy people could do it, why couldn't he? It was only the rest of his life, after all. What was there to worry about?

* * *

I just love Usopp, don't you? X3


	5. A Place to Call Hell

"Hurry the fuck up, asshole, or all the good stuff will be picked over!"

Zoro dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his denim jacket and tried to keep the vein in his forehead from exploding. Living with Luffy and that demonic cook for the past few weeks had been a bit more difficult than he had anticipated. Luffy was all right, only annoying every once in a while, but Zoro was a patient man for the most part. The kid was good for a laugh, and his stories were dumb but amusing. Sure he was a little slow and had nothing of an attention span to speak of, but, well, Zoro had lived with worse.

Like the fucking dart-brow.

Zoro had searched through his entire memory of shitty roommates and neighbors and could not come up with a single one of them who pissed him off even half as much as this asshole he was living with now did. Skinny bastard was the most infuriating person he'd ever had the displeasure of seeing on a daily basis, with only one possible exception, but he'd been younger then, and he'd actually had respect for the only girl who could kick his ass. But this fucker…he just _lived_ to piss Zoro off.

Dragging him to some shitty outdoor market to serve as a pack-mule was a prime example. It wasn't too far away from the apartment; only a couple blocks up and hang a left on Broadway, but it was starting to get cooler outside, and Zoro wasn't a huge fan of the fall, and he pretty much despised winter. Mostly 'cuz he hated shivering, but he hated sweaters and shit even more, so he tended to get pretty cold. Zoro hated being cold.

He couldn't start work 'til November. Two months from now. Which meant he wouldn't have enough money to leave before the first snow.

New York. In winter. With—

"I said hurry the fuck up! I'm not looking for your ass if you get lost!"

Zoro growled low, hands curling into fists that he longed to slam into the side of that stupid blonde head.

New York. In winter. With this unbelievable jackass.

Zoro kind of wanted to kill something.

And what made everything even worse; what pushed shit to the point of being nigh on unbearable, was that the curly bastard still – _still – _refused to buy any real booze. Water was fine, Zoro could live with that, but pop was getting old, and wine was for annoying, fruity fuck-cakes like the scrawny blonde. But whenever he tried to explain to the shit-cook what a goddamned moron he was, it always devolved into a fight, which was fun, but it didn't make any booze magically appear in the fridge.

The asshole said he could get booze when he got a job and used his own damn money.

So that meant New York, in winter, with this unbelievable jackass, and he didn't even have the luxury of heavy drinking to pass the time.

There was no doubting it. This was definitely hell.

"Hey Sanji!" Luffy yelled, despite the fact that he was nearly walking on the bastard's heels. "Can we get meat? Lots of meat? Like last time? It was really good! I WANT STEAK!"

"Calm the fuck down! If you embarrass me again I'll kick your ass, shitty-strawhat-boy!"

"Oi, don't make fun of Hat, curly-eyebrow!"

"The _fuck_ did you say, asshole!"

Feeling a headache coming on, Zoro opted to simply ignore the two, staring at the cracked, grey concrete as it passed under his boots and feeling the unavoidable twinge of irritation at getting himself stuck in this piss-poor situation. He supposed he'd been in worse predicaments, but from his current perspective, he'd really rather just grab up all his shit and fucking _walk_ somewhere. Didn't matter where, just as long as it was way the hell away from New York and the shitty-cook. Anywhere else, and he was sure he'd be in a much better mood.

Zoro growled, glaring at the sidewalk again. It felt like weakness to be so angry about things he couldn't really change at the moment, but it didn't make him feel any less homicidal. He gritted his teeth, fists curling tighter in his jacket pockets; whatever dared to cross his path was going to get fucking pummeled. He needed a punching bag in the worst way…

Suddenly a body came flying across Zoro's vision, landing in a heap right in front of him, followed by the incensed cry of, "Do you think I was born fucking yesterday!? Get the fuck outta here!"

For about two seconds Zoro thought the gods – that he didn't believe in anyway – had granted his wish of a sap to take his aggression out on, until the body started moving, and Zoro realized it was actually a kid. Literally. He looked younger than Luffy. So the honorable swordsman stayed his rage, blinking bemusedly at the scruffy boy trying to pull himself off the ground. A large traveling pack came soaring through the air as well, crashing to the concrete right beside the kid, and he jumped like a frightened mouse. A door slammed shut to Zoro's right.

The kid stood up, slowly wiped his pants off and ran the sleeve of a grungy hoodie under his nose a few times before grabbing hold of the bag and attempting to hoist it over a narrow shoulder. He really was about as scrawny as he seemed; the gigantic pack was obviously too much for him, and the kid over-balanced, tottering straight into Zoro's chest. His hands immediately went up to steady the boy.

"S-sorry about that," the kid muttered, twitching his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes. "Um…thanks."

"What're you up to, kid?"

"N-nothing! Just…just trying to find a place to live…" The kid trailed off, eyes darting around and shoulders hunched slightly. He could not have looked guiltier if he were confessing to the murder of a small village. Zoro sighed; why was it always him?

"All right, let's have it. What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" the brown-haired boy cried, looking a little hysterical and close to tears. "Really I didn't! But everyone thinks I did! I'm just looking for a place to stay! Honest!"

Zoro rolled his eyes at his own fate, and then reached out, lifting the pack off the boy's shoulders and dragging it with him to the nearest stoop. He sat down with the pack next to him, nodding his head at the spot beside him. The shocked boy followed without question, like a lost puppy.

"So. What's the story?"

The kid shifted slightly on the stone step, eyes fixed on his worn sneakers.

"I'm…I'm a med student at NYU, and I need somewhere to stay. I can't afford on-campus living, or a dorm, so I was looking for a cheap apartment I could rent that's kinda close to the campus."

"You're a med student?" Zoro asked, raising an eyebrow. "Aren't you kinda young to be in college?"

"I graduated early from high school," the boy said, hands twisting awkwardly in the sweater that was much too big for him. "So my…my guardian…she's a doctor, a really, really good one, and she got me enrolled in NYU as soon as she could."

"So why don't you live with her, then?"

The kid sighed a little, looking extremely tired. "She said she wanted me to grow up and be a man…that I needed to get more experience on my own, 'cuz she wasn't always gonna take care of me."

Zoro nodded, watching the boy silently.

"But," he went on, shoulders drooping slightly, "No one'll let me stay anywhere. They don't wanna be responsible for me, because I'm not eighteen yet. I didn't really have anywhere to sleep last night…"

Zoro's jaw clenched slightly, even though he knew this kid could very well be taking him for a ride. But one look at those exhausted, sad-as-hell eyes, and Zoro knew this kid hadn't ever told a lie in his life.

And that fact was probably why he now found himself ruffling the boy's mop of brown hair, and saying, "Oi, kid. Real men don't give up."

The boy turned those big, watery eyes on Zoro, and he suddenly realized he'd made a huge fucking mistake. And when the boy gurgled what was probably a tiny sob under his breath, and swung his skinny arms around Zoro's midsection, the swordsman cursed himself for being such a goddamn idiot. But it wasn't until he felt the cool tear drops fall from the boy's eyes and land on the cotton T-shirt he wore underneath the jacket that Zoro truly understood how royally fucked he was.

This was not good. This was very much not good.

Because if Zoro had any serious weakness, it was kids in shitty situations. And this one was in a pretty fucking shitty situation.

"O-oi. Kid." Zoro took his shoulders and tried to pry him off as gently as he could, but the boy simply clung on tighter. "Hey. Knock it off. Kid? Oi!"

"Shitty moss-head, didn't I tell you I wouldn't go looking for you if you got lost?" came the grating, repulsive sound of the last person Zoro really felt like seeing just then.

Or ever.

The skinny blonde stormed over, puffing smoke furiously into the crisp air and looking mighty pissed, which did sort of amuse Zoro.

"We were half way there when Luffy realized your stupid ass was no where in sight! What the fuck about, 'Hurry the hell up,' do you not…fucking…get…?"

Sanji slowed to an anti-climactic stop just in front of them, frowning in slight confusion at the kid still clinging to the swordsman, and an awkward silence followed as he obviously didn't know what to say, and Zoro figured he ought to savor this moment, 'cuz times like these were pretty damn rare.

"Oi, what are you guys doing? I'm starving to death and Sanji won't cook if we don't buy food!" Luffy roared, never one to be left out of anything. He too jogged over to the stoop where the rest were gathered, and halted when he realized he didn't recognize one of them. His round, dark eyes looked from the boy, to Zoro, to Sanji, and then back to Zoro again.

"Who's the kid?" he asked, pointing at the boy who was now gripping Zoro's jacket and trying to hide behind him.

"Dunno his name," Zoro said. "He's gonna move in with us, okay?"

The boy choked.

Sanji choked.

Luffy just laughed and said, "Okay!"

"Wait, hold on just a minute!" the cook cried, waving his arms. They all turned to look at him. "We don't have any more rooms. They're all full up. Where's this kid gonna sleep?"

"So we'll buy a cot and he'll bunk with me," Zoro said, digging a finger in his ear, unconcerned.

"But…but--"

Sanji broke off, his eyes locking with the young boy's, and his next complaint died on his tongue. He sighed, spitting out the butt of his cigarette.

"What's your name, kid?"

The boy swallowed nervously. "M-my dad named me Tony Chopperman, but everyone calls me Chopper."

"You look like a vegetarian, Chopper."

The kid blushed and squirmed a bit next to Zoro. "Y-yeah, I am. How did you know?"

"Hmmm…" Sanji pulled out a fresh cigarette and lit it up with a flick of his lighter. "We'll have to pick up some eggplant at the market…"

Zoro raised an eyebrow as the blonde turned on his heel, marching off down the street again, completely ignoring the kid's question. That was…unexpected at best. He figured the spindly prick would be just as vehemently against the boy moving in as he had been with Zoro, but apparently even the shitty-cook had a moment of conscience every now and then. He just shrugged it off. The bastard was still a bastard, in his mind. Nothing was gonna change that.

"Um…" a quiet voice squeaked from somewhere near his shoulder. Zoro looked down at the kid, who was biting his lip and staring firmly at the swordsman's jaw, too scared to look any higher.

"Th-…thank you. Really. I…" His fists twisted Zoro's jacket, and he bit his lip harder, tears threatening to spill again. "I…I really, really…"

Zoro ruffled his hair again. "Chopper, right?" he asked.

The boy blinked, tears running down his cheeks as his eyes finally met the older man's. He nodded, looking sort of awed and speechless.

"Let's go. That blonde asshole can get really irritating if we make him wait."

More tears streamed down Chopper's face, but he smiled wide. "Okay!"

"YAY!" Luffy cheered, startling both of them. "LET'S GO! I WANNA EEEEEEEEEEAT!!!!"

"Will you assholes hurry the fuck up!? I'm not waiting anymore!"

* * *

Hey again! Trying to get these first seven or eight chapters out. They pretty much comprise the ground-work chapters. Then everything after that starts picking up the plotline. And if seven-to-eight-odd chapters of set-up seems a bit excessive, you have no idea how massive this thing is gonna get. My only hope is for none of you to get too utterly bored with this story! I promise it'll be good!!! Also, genre was switched from Romance/Humor to Romance/General, when I realized the MASSIVE AMOUNT OF ANGST that will shortly become a huge selling point. And, if you're looking for Hurt/Comfort, be prepared for a shock. Zoro has fluffly tendencies, but none where Sanji's concerned. He's really just a dick. But in the best way possible! X) Thanks for the reviews!!!!!


	6. Shitty Contrivances of Bottles and Beds

As Sanji stared at the utter mess his kitchen cabinets had been reduced to, he decided he really was sick and tired of this asshole marimo living here. Fucking moving in, unwanted, taking up space, free-loading on Sanji's hard-earned paycheck, demanding booze every other second, letting some strange kid off the street move in with them, and now _this!?_

Was he retarded, or just plain dumb? How hard was it to put groceries away? Seriously, Sanji could not comprehend how brain-dead one had to be to not be able to look in a fucking cabinet and decided, "Hmm, it doesn't make much sense to put the baking powder with the potato chips, or the canned peas with the pistachios!"

Jesus H. Christ!

Sanji had a system, goddamnit! There were rules to his kitchen! It flowed, for God's sake, couldn't the fucking moss-head see that? And now all the grocery bags were strewn around the counter, _not_ put away, and all the cabinets were in disarray, the inner zen of Sanji's sacred space utterly decimated by some ignorant asshole. Sanji had rarely wanted to kill someone more than he did that fucking moron!

With a resigned growl, the cook decided this just couldn't go on any longer. That marimo had to get the fuck out, now! He didn't even give a shit _how_ much Luffy and that new kid liked him; his ass was out the door, as of that very moment. Besides, all Luffy needed was a big enough steak, and he'd get over pretty much anything.

So it was official. The fucker was moving out.

…Now where the hell was he?

Tearing his eyes away from this latest travesty, he looked around the living room briefly, and discovered that not only was the moss-head missing, but _no one_ was anywhere in sight. They had to have left; it was way too fucking quiet for Luffy to have been in the apartment. But as he listened more carefully, he could make out the dull sound of metal knocking against metal.

Frowning slightly, Sanji moved away from the kitchen, following the curious sound, trailing it all the way its source: behind Zoro's closed door. There was a particularly loud _clank_, followed by muttered cursing, and then relative silence again.

_What the fuck is he doing?_ Sanji thought, but then shook his head firmly. He didn't want to know, it probably wasn't anything worthwhile anyway. He'd found the bastard. That's all that mattered. Now he was gonna kick his ass out.

So, setting his jaw, Sanji took a breath and then kicked the door open, ready to launch into a furious tirade, only to stop short at the oddity he had stumbled upon: Zoro lay on his back on the floor, brow furrowed deeply and tongue set between his teeth as he attempted to screw two metal rods together at a ninety-degree angle. A set of directions lay spread open on the floor next to the marimo's left knee; it was a diagram of that camper-cot they had picked up on their way back from the market. Looked like the asshole was pretty much done with it.

_Sure, he can assemble a goddamn __**bed**__, but the dumbass can't put groceries away properly!_, he thought, irritation flaring again as he remembered what he'd come in here for.

"Oi, shithead," Sanji said, to announce his otherwise ignored presence.

Zoro spared him a brief glance before returning to his work. "'The hell do you want, Curly-cue?"

Sanji growled low, aiming a harsh kick at the fucker's shin.

Zoro grunted, eyes returning to the cook with a heated glare. "What the fuck is your problem, asshole?"

"Well for one, you could fucking look at me when I'm talking to you, you goddamn waste of space!"

Zoro rolled his eyes, once again deeming the blonde not-worth-his-time as he went back to the final screw he was trying to set in place. "I'm busy, fuckface. Leave me alone…tch," he scoffed, this time at the screw, as he yanked the piece of metal out of the hole in the rod and glared at it. "…fucker's stripped," he muttered. He tossed it aside and fished a different one out of his pocket, then set back to work.

Sanji watched him for a second, almost too pissed for words and unable to stop all the violent fantasies that flashed through his mind. Such a vulnerable position for the moss-head to be in. In one fell swoop, Sanji could crush his fucking head.

_Or,_ Sanji smirked evilly, _his dick!_

Before he could get too carried away with his visions of utterly mutilating the infuriating asshole, said asshole suddenly asked, "Oi, the kids back yet?"

Ignoring the bizarrely domestic sound to the question, Sanji just frowned at the man below him. "No. Did they leave?"

"Yeah. Luffy wanted to show the new guy some arcade game about pirates at this pizzeria. Or something." Zoro clenched his jaw as he gave the screw-driver a particularly powerful turn. "That's good though. I can probably get this done before they get back."

"Why's it gotta be done? It's only afternoon. The kid won't need it 'til tonight."

"He's exhausted," Zoro said simply, running a thumb over the screw in its place before giving the support beams a good shake. "Can't really fall asleep in an alley if it's your first time doing it."

Sanji just sneered at him. "Well congratulations, dipshit. In your infinite benevolence, you gave the kid a rickety, piece-of-shit cot with someone else's money. You're the goddamn Mother Theresa, you are!"

The moss-head glowered at him a second, but before any more insults could be thrown, the apartment door slid open suddenly, and Luffy's unmistakable whoops of delight could be heard as the two laughing boys stumbled inside.

Zoro pulled himself out from under the skeleton of the bed and threw the mattress and pillow on top, hastily draping a sheet over it, and throwing himself roughly on the cot, testing how well it would hold up.

When the bed failed to collapse on him, much to Sanji's disappointment, the marimo suddenly called out, "Oi, Chopper! Come here, your bed's ready!"

Pissed off at being ignored again, Sanji opened his mouth to tell the obnoxious fucker off, when the boy came tumbling awkwardly in, vibrating slightly and hiding the wrong way behind the door frame. Zoro looked at him and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder.

"That one's yours."

Chopper shrunk back a second, stammering something about how he wasn't happy just because Zoro gave him a bed, even though he seemed pretty damn pleased. Eventually the kid sidled his way into the room, hugging up against the wall as though Zoro and Sanji weren't right there in the room, watching him, and he reached out a tentative hand to touch the covers of his new bed…

…the bed that, Sanji now realized, was actually Zoro's. Well…it _used_ to be Zoro's, anyway…

The cook blinked stupidly, watching as the kid slowly sat down on the bed's edge, bouncing slightly, running his hand over the pillows almost reverently, as though he hadn't seen a bed in years. Tears welled in his brown eyes, but he still reached across the narrow space between bed and cot to punch Zoro's arm, saying he hated it when people were nice to him, goddamnit, even though he was rolling around on the bed and grinning from ear-to-ear.

Zoro just shook his head, chuckling slightly, and it was the first time Sanji had heard anything like a laugh out of the stoic asshole, but he couldn't really tell what it sounded like, since Luffy bounded in the room just then, wondering where everyone had gone. With a triumphant cry, the dark-haired boy launched himself on the bed with Chopper, and the two of them immediately started a pillow fight, which Zoro seemed quite intent on not being a part of. Until a stray pillow hit him square in the face, and then the marimo growled, grabbing up his own ammunition and going after his laughing assailants.

Sanji harrumphed bad-naturedly and stalked out of the room. He marched straight into the kitchen, grabbed up his wallet that was really too light for this sort of shit, and then headed for the door, hating himself and growing more irritated with every step.

The bastard was still a bastard, as far as Sanji was concerned. But he figured he'd probably seen worse.

Somewhere.

Maybe.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Oi, finish unloading the groceries, asshole!" the annoying cook's equally-annoying voice called through the open door of the room Zoro now shared with the new kid. The swordsman groaned, deciding it'd been a stupid idea to meditate while Luffy and Chopper were playing video games, anyway, and hoisted himself off the floor, walking across the apartment to the kitchen, where a paper bag from a store they hadn't even gone to that day stood waiting on the counter to be unpacked.

"You fucking dartboard!" Zoro yelled, even though the fucker wasn't in sight. "You bought this shit just now! Put it away yourself!"

"Just unload it, you green-haired ape!" came the cook's disembodied voice from somewhere off to Zoro's right, presumably the bastard's room. "And so help me God, if you complain one more time, I'll kick your face through the goddamn wall!"

Muttering something dastardly and murderous under his breath, Zoro sullenly reached into the bag, and realized there was only one thing inside it. A little confused, he grabbed whatever it was, a bottle of some sort, and pulled it out of the bag.

Zoro looked at the label on the bottle.

Then he rubbed his eyes, and read it again.

It still said the same thing: Sakura, Fine-Aged Sake.

He blinked a couple of times, mind failing to grasp how exactly this bottle of wonderfulness came to be. But he shrugged, twisted off the cap, and decided he didn't give a shit about the "how"…

…except he knew only one person in this apartment had any money. Zoro looked from the opened bottle of sake, to the wall the kitchen shared with that blonde asshole's bedroom. Then he sighed, took a hearty swallow from the bottle, savoring the nice clean bite he felt from good booze, and twisted the cap back on before storing it in the very back of one of the bottom cabinets in the kitchen. He might as well try and make it last.

God only knew _when_ that stingy fucker would cough up another bottle.

* * *

Ne...isn't it cute how Sanji, instead of hating Zoro for being a jerk, he hates him even more for being a nice guy. Sanji's retarded. :P


	7. Blades at Five

Sanji had seen many things in his life, both strange, wonderful, and down-right fucked up. Having been raised by a bunch of ex-sailors on a restaurant shaped like a goddamn fish – everyone wondered why, and very few knew – it stood to reason that there was relatively little that gave him pause. He could flow naturally with any situation fate happened to throw at him. He was just smooth like that. He was never at a loss for words, never without a quick retort, and _never_ failed to seize the opportunity to trounce those of a lesser intellect. The ladies valued a witty man, after all.

But when he woke up early one quiet, innocuous Wednesday to make breakfast before heading off to work, still groggy and rubbing sleep from his eyes, he witnessed something that, if the cook felt like being honest, he'd have to admit he'd never seen before.

Pale light from the pre-dawn morning sifted through the blinds of the large picture windows in the living room, bathing a lone figure in a dim glow, and shining off the long, edged length of a deadly-looking sword. And Sanji was never one for frilly verses, unless some angelic goddess was involved, but even he couldn't help but find the scene very…poetic. Angelic in its own, peaceful, dangerous sort of way, and Sanji was aware of the fact that his thoughts weren't making sense the very moment they occurred to him, but this entire scenario wasn't making much sense. How many times had he woken up at this exact hour and seen nothing more extraordinary than that Luffy somehow remembered to turn the TV off?

This was…this was above and beyond the abnormal. This was rather fucking weird.

And in case the cook's brain wasn't quite broken enough, one small detail that he happened to overlook finally became apparent as he fully took in the scene: the mop of spiky, green hair atop the head of the strange early-morning-riser.

It was the fucking marimo.

Sanji glared at the back of the preoccupied man's head, feeling irritated and embarrassed for reasons he didn't know, and didn't care to find out, and just generally confused all around. Not the most pleasant way to start the morning.

_What the fuck is he doing up so early?_, Sanji wondered, watching the marimo as the other watched the sword, turning it this way and that so it caught the light at different angles. _Asshole never gets up this early. Why the fuck would he start now? The lazy fucker's usually still asleep by the time I get home…_

…_and where the fuck did the sword come from?_

After carefully running a thumb over the edge of the blade, the green-haired man sheathed it, and picked up…and picked up _another one_. There were two!

_This crazy bastard has two swords! What the fuck could he need two fucking swords for?_

And he knew he should be starting breakfast, should have already started minutes ago, and if he didn't soon he'd be late for work, but Sanji couldn't seem to look away, too bewildered by this odder-than-hell occurrence to do anything more than watch it play out. So he stood there frowning as the marimo unsheathed his second sword, picking up a cloth from its hidden spot in his lap, and slowly but firmly started to stroke along the blade, the chemical tang of polish now reaching the cook's nose. He made several passes with the cloth before setting it aside again, and going through the whole "turning-studying" routine once more, as though the sword's blade could have changed somehow in the last few seconds. Then he sheathed that sword, and laid it down beside the first.

And then he picked up a third.

Sanji blinked, certain his eyes were playing tricks on him in the poor light from outside. But no. It was undeniable. That psycho had three swords. _Three_!

_What…the…__**fuck!?**_

Gaping now, and slightly fearful of what sort of murdering lunatic they had let move into their apartment, Sanji was now rooted to the floor, unable to move away, even if he wanted to. This kind of shit just didn't happen!

_Well…it isn't __**supposed **__to happen…actually ends up happening more often then it should. Luffy's brother is a pyro and a weekend cross-dresser, after all._

But suddenly the occasional foray as a woman, coupled with a passionate love of shit that exploded seemed painfully ho-hum by comparison to some crazed killer with three goddamn fucking swords!

_Asshole's definitely on the run from the cops. No way someone could own three fucking swords and __**not**__ have done some evil fucking shit. I knew that prick was no fucking good! He's some serial killer. I knew it. I __**fucking knew it**__! This bastard is out of here! No fucking psycho is living in __**my**__ goddamn apartment! His crazy, violent ass is gone! This asshole is_ –

Sanji's internal tirade cut short as he watched, stunned, as the marimo finished polishing and studying the blade of the third sword, and then pointed it straight up, pressing the woven binding of the hilt against his forehead and holding it there for a moment. He hadn't done that with the other two. He paid them plenty of attention, no denying that. But this…it was almost like the man was _worshipping_ this last sword.

There was something almost calming and…several other things Sanji didn't really want to think, because they sounded too girly, but were nonetheless true…something slightly powerful about watching such a gruff, uncaring asshole treat an object with so much reverence. It reminded Sanji quite a bit of how he treated his kitchen, and everything in it; how he glorified food, and demanded it be respected and appreciated. It didn't seem all that different.

And suddenly, _they_ didn't seem all that different, but Sanji would never admit it, never wanted anything to do with this infuriating, insulting, disgusting prick, and was now more determined than ever to hate everything about him…

…except that he didn't really know anything about the asshole _to_ hate. So he figured he should find some stuff out. Not because he was interested; because he wanted to make sure he hated him properly.

"Hey," Sanji said kind of quietly, and he didn't really know why he was going out of his way not to startle the man sitting on the floor, other than that said man was in possession of three deadly weapons. "What the hell are you doing up so early, marimo?"

Zoro never moved the sword as he said, "I'm always up this early."

"I never see you."

"Doesn't mean I'm not up. I share a room now. Don't want the kid to wake up to this. Might freak him out."

Other than speaking, the marimo sat still as stone; straight backed, legs crossed, arms immobile as they held the gleaming blade up. Sanji tapped his lips, wishing he'd brought his cigarettes out, but by this time he was usually in the throws of cooking breakfast, and he never smoked while he cooked. He _should_ be cooking breakfast. He _should_ be getting ready for work.

"So…you collect swords or something?"

Zoro didn't say a word at first. He pulled the sword away from his brow, running his thumb along its edge like he had done to the other two, and then slowly slid the sword into a beautiful, gilded white sheath, before setting it across his lap. Not on the floor, beside the others. His large, gorilla hands rested on the sword with surprising gentleness, tan skin a stark contrast to the snowy material.

"Or something," he murmured, not even turning around to look at Sanji.

It should have pissed him off. It would have, too, if everything wasn't so weird and unreal all of a sudden, and Sanji wasn't sure why everything had to be different just because he'd never seen anything like this before, but part of him didn't like it, and he sort of wanted to kick the bastard for no reason, as long as it would make things go back to normal.

But he didn't. And he didn't understand that either.

"Why do you have three?"

"Why do you have five different kinds of mixing spoons?"

Sanji scoffed at the man's ignorance, temporarily thrown off his own line of questioning. "Because I use them for different things, idiot. Certain dishes need to be stirred different ways to get the right consistency. What the hell is the difference between one sword and another?"

"So you're saying the spoons mean different things?"

"Well, I…" Sanj looked at him, frowning. "Well, not really, but I guess…you could say that, or something…"

Zoro stood, white sword in one hand as he bent over to pick up the other two. He rolled his neck, working out the kinks, and said, "Not all swords are made the same. Not all spoons are made the same. Some swords mean different things to the owner. That's why I have three."

"But why have any at all?"

Zoro turned then, eyes locking with Sanji's, and it suddenly occurred to the blonde that they had never looked directly at one another until that second; there was a fierce determination in those dark eyes that he hadn't really expected to see.

"Why have any spoons?"

Sanji blinked first. He was man enough to admit it. But then he frowned, grunting his understanding. And he did understand. Maybe not entirely. Maybe not all the nitty-gritty details, and neither did the marimo, but they seemed to get it enough that words weren't necessary.

Zoro gave an answering nod before trudging off to the room he shared with Chopper, probably to sleep some more. Sanji headed towards the kitchen, knowing he was grievously behind schedule, and that he didn't care as much as he should.

He just rolled up his sleeves, turned on the stove, pulled out the meat and eggs, and made a mental note to wake the swordsman again before Luffy ate all the sausage.

* * *

Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I really appreciate all the lovely things you all say! I hope I don't disappoint!!


	8. A Celebration of General Fail

"Vivi my angel!" Sanji cried, pirouetting around the armchair where the pale, blue-haired girl sat. "Is there anything I can get you? A light snack? A hot towel for your gorgeous brow? Some more wine, perhaps?"

Vivi looked down at her untouched glass of Chardonnay, then smile up at the cook. "I'm fine, Sanji. Thank you, though."

"Are you sure, oh sweet vision? I can get you anything you desire! Anything at all!"

He bowed gallantly, sweeping his arm and nearly knocking Usopp in the face as he walked by, carrying drinks for himself and Kaya. Vivi smiled, knowing he was trying to cheer her up, but nothing was even wrong to begin with. Not really.

"Thank you, Sanji. I'm fine."

The lanky cook nodded, realizing when the quietly stubborn girl had made up her mind, and returned her smile a bit half-heartedly before he bowed again, and stealthily slipped through the small crowd to check on the casserole he had cooking in the oven.

Vivi sighed. He may have given up for the moment, but he'd try again in about half an hour. For all her stubbornness, Sanji had her matched in sheer perseverance. Once he caught whiff of the slightest displeasure in any of the girls, he was like a dog with a bone: refusing to drop the matter until he was certain it was solved. It was endearing, in a way, and irritating in many, many other ways. Vivi usually thought it was sweet when it wasn't aimed at her, or at least not when something was seriously wrong. But nothing _was_ wrong.

Not really, anyway. And that's why Sanji was such a bother. He couldn't take a hint that Vivi was fine, for goodness' sake! Everything was fine! Vivi would be fine! Not that she wasn't already, but she'd still _be _fine the next time Sanji asked, and the time after that, and the time after that.

Because nothing was wrong.

"Everyone! I'd like to make an announcement!"

A loud voice brought her rambling thoughts to a sudden stand-still.

Usopp stood on top of the coffee table, despite distant screams from the blonde chef to get down before he broke something (meaning the furniture), and waved his arms about, calling the party to attention. Franky and Robin quieted down and looked over from their spot on the loveseat across the room; the new boy and Luffy tried to get untangled from their upside-down-heap on the floor, while Nami screamed at them to shut up and quit giggling while other people are talking; Brooke's music drifted slowly into nothingness before he turned off the power on his Casanova keyboard that he'd set up in the corner near the windows; the other new man to the apartment simply glanced over before taking a swig from a bottle of some liquor no doubt strong and possibly lethal; and Sanji just leaned against the kitchen counter and lit a fresh cigarette. Kaya beamed at Usopp from her spot on the couch, just in front of the coffee table.

"I called everyone to this meeting so I can inform you all of something amazing and daring!" The group collectively rolled its eyes, but Luffy and the brown-haired boy gazed with wonderment at Usopp, and Vivi laughed quietly.

Usopp held his arms out, gazing down on the crowd with a haughty, dramatic expression. "I am undertaking an adventure so terrifying, so dangerous, so utterly and completely stupendous…I wonder if anyone here can handle the shock of this truly shocking news…"

"AAAAAAH! USOPP, DON'T DO IT! YOU'LL DIIIIIIIE!!!!" the young boy screamed suddenly, looking horrified.

Loud laughter exploded amongst the group of friends, and the other new man mussed the kid's hair, grumbling something about not believing anything the lying long-nose said.

"Laugh if you dare," Usopp went on, undeterred, "but you seem to underestimate the sheer magnitude of my latest adventure! It is, without doubt, the greatest undertaking of the Great Hero Usopp! It is so unbelievably spectacular, so mind-blowing, so -- "

"Spit it the fuck out already!" Sanji shouted from the kitchen, hurling a pot-holder at the back of the posing man's head.

"All right, all right!" the dark-haired man cried, but then quickly cleared his throat, regaining composure. "So, without any more ado…are you sure you wouldn't like any more ado?"

Curses and exasperated groans were the only responses he got, other than the new guy kicking the coffee table Usopp stood on, and more random objects flying out of the kitchen.

"All right! I get it! No more ado! Here it is!" He took a deep, dramatic breath, squared his shoulders, steeled his face, and declared in a loud, clear voice:

"I QUIT MY JOB!"

Nami spat her champagne in Luffy's face, while he just sputtered and laughed. The young boy started running in circles screaming; the green-haired man had to grab him by the back of his shirt and yank him to the floor to calm him down. Robin giggled demurely behind a thin hand, while Franky was up and thwacking Usopp on the back for being a super-quitter. Sanji was already back at the stove, ignoring the noise, and Kaya simply smiled adoringly up at her fiancé while soft jazz started up from the corner of the room again.

Vivi just sighed slightly. She wanted to join in the crazy rambunctiousness. Truly she did. And nothing was wrong. Not at all. But she just didn't have it in her to laugh and shout and sing with the others. Well…she did have it in her, actually, but…

…well, it was complicated. But still, nothing was wrong.

…well…nothing _had_ been wrong…until…

"Oi."

Vivi jumped a bit, startled that someone was addressing her. Everyone else had sort of tip-toed around her the entire party; she had just begun to think that she'd turned into part of the décor. Looking over at her sudden visitor, she was surprised to find the new roommate there. He seemed to have shifted down a few seats on the couch to sit near her.

_Why?_

He regarded her very seriously, tanned brow creased in a frown that looked relatively permanent. "You look like you want to join in."

She blinked, taken aback and at a loss for what she should say and wondering how a complete stranger could so succinctly read her mind.

"Why don't you?"

Smiling weakly, Vivi nodded over towards Nami. "See that girl?"

The man nodded.

"We sort of had an argument, it was my fault, and…I guess I just feel weird being at a party with her."

"Why does it matter?"

Vivi snorted, something she rarely did. "It's sort of a problem when your roommate gets mad at you."

"Shit-cook and I hate each other. Doesn't seem to affect too much." The man shrugged at her, as though that should solve everything.

"It isn't that easy."

"Did you apologize?"

"Yes," Vivi said, staring at her wine. "But it doesn't matter. She forgives people on her own terms."

The man's frown deepened a few inches as he studied her very hard, apparently thinking something over. "So it doesn't matter if you apologize, because she's gonna forgive you only when she feels like it?"

The blue-haired girl sighed again, deflating further into the cushions of the armchair. "Yeah. Pretty much."

"So then what the hell are you doing sulking over here?"

"Wh…" her brow creased as she stared at him, feeling unpleasantly confused, "What are you saying, I just told you why!"

"No, what you told me was bullshit."

Vivi's jaw dropped, bristling in anger and glaring hard at the infuriating man beside her.

"Excuse me?!" she cried.

_How dare he?! Where does he get off, saying whatever he likes!? He doesn't know anything about me! How the hell could this uncivilized brute understand what I'm going through?_

"Excuse yourself," he said, face still sternly neutral. "You're the only one getting screwed in this deal. So your roommate's a bitch. Oh well. Get over it. She's gonna forgive you whenever she damn well pleases, anyway, so what's the point in beating yourself up about something you don't have any say in?"

"Because, I…I…um…"

But Vivi had nothing. Everything he'd said made perfect sense. And she knew that; couldn't deny it anymore than she could deny how much it still hurt anyway. It wasn't even that Nami had yet to forgive her. It was something closer to Vivi's heart, that she didn't want to admit, or even think about, because if it were true, she was pretty certain she'd be destroyed. She always thought she and Nami got along reasonably well, but…maybe, through all their years as friends, Nami didn't…maybe she never even really…

A large, warm hand on her thin forearm, and a deep voice saying, "Hey."

That was all it took for her whirlwind worries to calm to a halt. But that profound sadness was still there. It probably always would be.

"It isn't like that. It's not like she doesn't care."

Fighting the tears, because it would be ridiculous to cry in the middle of a party, and she didn't want anyone else to see, anyway. "How do you know?" she warbled quietly, desperately.

"Just looking at her. I can tell."

That hand squeezed gently, and the soothing voice went on.

"She's a bitch, not heartless."

And something about everything was so utterly beyond absurd, that Vivi couldn't help but throw her head back and laugh loudly at the ceiling, even while silent tears slid steadily down her cheeks. They were all watching her, she was sure, but laughter blocked the pain in her chest, and that hand was still on her arm, and tears don't always mean sadness and regret, so Vivi just decided not to care, and she laughed.

It was the best she'd felt all day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Ah, my lovely Vivi, I hope you had a wonderful time!" Sanji cooed, bowing once more before clasping her thin fingers in his equally slender hand as he graciously (and in some cases, not-so-graciously) saw the guests out the door once the party wound down. "You did enjoy yourself, didn't you?"

Vivi smiled, more genuinely than she had an hour ago, and Sanji didn't fail to notice. It always did his heart good to see a beautiful maiden happy.

"Yes, I had a great time. And your cooking was superb, as always!"

Heart swelling all the way to his visible eye, Sanji twirled on the spot, crying, "AH! My glorious Mellorine! Your kind words are my reason for life!"

She patted his arm, giggling, and it was sweet music to his ears. Truly, this was the greatest joy any man could wish for…

…and that reminded him of something. Something that could very well determine whether or not he needed to commit a murder that night.

While helping Vivi slip on her black peacoat, he gently asked, "Uh, my dearest Vivi, I saw you speaking with that idiot marimo earlier. He didn't offend you at all, did? Because if he did, rest assured, your Shining Prince will exterminate the offensive swine in the wink of an eye!"

The blue-haired angel turned and smiled once more, a quiet, but content sort of smile, which Sanji really hadn't been expecting, and he wasn't sure if he should feel relieved, or even more infuriated.

_What the hell did that moss-head say to her!?_

"What's his name, Sanji?"

There was no tell-tale, whimsical tone to her voice, which he considered a good sign. If an image of perfection such as Vivi fell for that disgusting ogre, the cook wasn't sure he could go on living. He'd lose all faith in the world! But still…

"Uh…Zoro. His name's Zoro," Sanji said, still uncertain.

"Hmmm…it suits him." Her pretty blue eyes met Sanji's, and there was the faintest glimmer of firmness in their shimmering depths. "You should try and be nicer to him, Sanji. He's a good guy."

And with a satisfied sigh and a final bright, warm smile, she pecked Sanji on the cheek and headed out the door, waving goodbye to Luffy and Chopper as she went.

Sanji stood there, torn between elation at her (in his mind) intimate gesture, and confusion mixed with mild horror at her apparent approval of the mass of muscled-up retardation that was the shitty swordsman.

What the _fuck_ had he said to her?!

"Oi, dumbass," that irritating, taunting, smug, fucking _infuriating_ voice called, as Zoro walked by. "Keep your mouth open too long, you never know what'll get stuck in there."

With a shitty chuckle that nearly sent the cook in a violent rage, that goddamn asshole knocked Sanji's lax jaw back into position with his knuckles, grinning and sauntering off towards the couch again.

He whirled around, about to start screaming, to demand of him what sort bullshit he'd spewed at the lovely Vivi, how he'd managed to blind-sight her to his ugly, repulsive personality, because he was the most offensive, most despicable, most awful person Sanji had ever met…

…but then the fucker grabbed Usopp by the neck, dragging him into the living room and making the former-graphic-designer hold a black garbage bag while the larger man shoveled paper plates and napkins from the coffee table into it, leaning over to straighten a pillow as he went.

_Fuck._

Sanji shoved a cigarette between his lips, absolutely not thinking about the swordsman's shitty comment earlier, and lit it with a practiced flick of his lighter, taking a nice, deep, relaxing breath of smoke.

Fine. Okay. Maybe he could admit it, at least in the safety of his own mind.

"Zoro" wasn't a completely horrific name.

* * *

For those of you who are on the fence about the NamixVivi thing, don't worry too much. It's not that big of a plot point. Seriously.


	9. Calm, Calamity, and a Dash of Hate

_236….237…_

This was good.

_...238…239…_

The struggle. The strain. The warmth of muscles humming in exertion.

This was very good.

_...240…241…_

Only a few more weeks of it. Zoro was gonna miss this.

…_242…243_

The sudden sound of metal sliding against metal pulled his mind from the peaceful abyss only extreme exercise could achieve.

…_244…245…_

Hard-soled shoes _klunk_ing lightly on the wooden floor. Quiet rustle of expensive fabric. Distinct blend of cheap cologne, tobacco, and fire-grilled fine dining.

Sanji.

…_246…247…_

"Oi marimo, are you…what the fuck are you doing?"

…_248…249…_

"Training."

…_250…251…_

"Um…right." Brief pause.

…_252…253…_

Lanky shadow stretching over him. That stupid scent fucking with his concentration.

"The hell do you want, cook?"

…_254…255…_

"…When do you start work, again?"

…_256…257…_

"Next month."

The lanky shadow nodded.

…_258…259…_

The shadow moved then, and Zoro heard the scuffed dress shoes over the hard wood again, the sound of a jacket being draped over the arms of a chair, then cabinets opening in the kitchen.

…_260…261…_

Utensils clanked on the table. The refrigerator opened and closed. Pots knocked together, the stove turned on. The sounds of cooking rolled out into the foyer where Zoro kept steady count of his one-armed, inverted pushups, the noises blending with the beating of his heart and the measured breaths through his nose, lulling his mind back into its blank, steady nothingness. The calm void where he could feel his power growing, his determination sharpening to a fine edge. It was when he sank into this place that he truly knew he would be the best one day.

…_278…279…_

And he _would_ be the best one day. He'd surpass that man if it killed him.

…_280…281…_

Nothing would get in his way. Nothing would hold him back.

…_282…283…_

Nothing.

"Oi dumbass, you keep glaring at the floor like that, you might set the damn wood on fire."

"Tch. Fuck off, curlicue. Leave me alone."

…_284…285…_

Nothing.

…_286…287…_

"Asshole."

…_288…289…_

Nothing.

…_290…291…_

Absolutely nothi –

….wait a minute…

"What the hell are you even doing home, shit-cook? Don't you work 'til five?"

Zoro had paused mid-pushup, head angled downward to glower questioningly at the upside-down image of the cook.

"Yeah. I usually do," he said, pouring milk into a mixing bowl, not bothering to look up.

"So what are you doing?"

"Practicing a new recipe I promised the lovely Nami."

"No, dumbass, I mean why are you back so earlier? It's not even one in the afternoon; doesn't this count as the lunch rush?"

The blonde sighed, a bit irritated, switching the stove off again, and leaning against the counter so the very top of his head was barely visible to the swordsman over the stainless steel table that separated them. A rustle then a _click_, and soon the scent of tobacco was sharper than before.

"Got into some trouble with the Head Chef. There was a homeless guy at the back door to the kitchen begging for scraps, and some shit-faced trainee was yelling and swinging a broom at him, telling him to beat it out of there. When I shoved him aside to give the poor guy some food, he starts picking a fight with me about giving handouts to free-loaders, so I kicked his ass into the dumpster across the alley," Sanji stopped to take another drag off his cigarette; the sound of a finger tapping agitatedly on the counter met Zoro's ears, "So then the shitty Old Man gets pissed and kicks me out into the alley too; told me to take the rest of the day off to cool down, or I'd wreck his business – tch. Just 'cuz that pansy started screaming. Not my fault the fucker couldn't take a hit."

"So what happened to the trainee?" Zoro asked, flipping out of his hand-stand, brushing his hands off on his sweat-soaked shirt before approaching the kitchen table.

"Shit-Geezer went out there and gave him a few more kicks for good measure. Then fired him."

"Sounds pretty harsh."

A single hard, blue eye leveled at him suddenly, and Zoro drew up short at the level of spite – and was that disappointment? – he saw reflected back at him. That look nailed him to the floor; his survival instincts were kicking in, and informed him that it'd be best if he didn't move any further into the blonde's space, unless he was spoiling for a fight.

Which, usually, he was.

But for some reason, a distant part of the swordsman's mind figured this wasn't something he should fuck with.

"I dunno what kind of life you've had before you moved here, jackass," Sanji started, his demeanor radiating calm danger, "but scraps of handouts are all some people manage to live on. And some poor bastards never even get that. Going hungry – fucking _starving_ – ain't amusing at all. And the shitheads who deny those people any respite are no better than murderers, in my book. That fucking trainee got off easy."

With that Sanji jammed his cigarette back in his mouth, fuming smoke into the air in furious puffs.

Zoro wondered if the idiot chef knew just how much he'd revealed, and whether he'd actually meant to or not, but Zoro wasn't really sure what he ought to do with this situation.

Ever since the curlicue had walked in on his sword meditation a few weeks ago, things had been…sort of weird. Not bad, exactly, and definitely not good, either, just…different. It was almost uncomfortable; he sort of wished they could go back to the hatred, because anger was a pretty uncomplicated circumstance. But what with these shitty, unintentional revelations – that were less about words and feelings than they were just bare-bones facts – that seemed to crop up more often than Zoro really cared for…it was getting harder to just write the bastard off. Sanji knew shit. Now Zoro did too. And the truth of the matter was Zoro didn't really _want_ to know shit. He didn't _want_ to get buddy-buddy with the cook. He couldn't stand the fucker. He didn't want to know the asshole's sob story, and he certainly wasn't about to share any of his own less-than-cheerful tales. He wasn't looking for that sort of connection.

With anyone.

And especially not with Target-brow over there.

Because Zoro had a goal. A dream to achieve. He was gonna be the best, or die trying. And nothing – and no _one_ – was going to get in the way of that. No strings to tie him down.

No connections.

"Look, Zoro…I --"

But Zoro didn't want to hear it. "Save it, love-cook," he said, holding up a hand to stop the blonde. "Everyone's got something they care about. I get it."

And he did. Which pissed him off.

Sanji seemed to get it too, 'cuz he nodded, chewing slightly on the filter of his cigarette.

"What do you want for dinner?" Sanji asked. He seemed to think better of the question after the look of utter shock and confusion that no doubt flashed across Zoro's face, because he quickly added, "Since, y'know, you're the only one here. Figure I'll cater to your brutish tastes for once."

Zoro blinked, feeling brain cells colliding violently with each other, dying horrible, painful deaths at the mere "what-the-fuckery" inherent in this weird situation. Was the cook serious? He never gave a shit what anyone wanted to eat, other than the girls.

_This is getting too weird. Gotta stop this. Gotta piss him off, and reinstate that hatred. Yeah. That'll fix this…whatever-the-fuck is going on…_

"Onigiri," was all that came out of the swordsman's mouth.

Sanji arched an eyebrow. "Onigiri?"

_Damn!_

"Yeah."

The blonde took a thoughtful drag on his nearly spent smoke, exhaling slow and deliberate as he tapped his scruffy chin.

"Okay," he said, and turned back to the stove.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Onigiri's pretty easy to make. I'll finish up this soufflé, and then get some white rice from the market. I used up the last batch on the sushi platter for Usopp's Job-Quitting-Party. Kinda weird reason for a party, eh? Wonder why he quit all of a sudden."

"His dream's to draw comics," Zoro said, ignoring the strange look the cook shot him as he moved forward finally, leaning his arms on the kitchen table and wondering why he wasn't following his own advice.

"But why'd he decide to quit now?"

Zoro shrugged. "Why bother putting off his dream any longer than he had to? The graphic arts job was getting in the way."

"Hmmm…"

The swordsman looked up, frowning at Sanji's back while the smaller man started mixing the ingredients. "What?"

"Nothing. Go get in the shower, asshole. Your sweat's fouling up my kitchen."

"Tch. Bastard," Zoro grunted. He should be angry. He should snarl and bite the skinny fucker's head off. Punch him in the face, at least.

Instead he turned away from the table and headed for the shower without another complaint.

And he hated it.

He hated it a whole fucking lot.

* * *


	10. A Dissection of Worth

"Umm…Chopper?"

"Yes, Zoro?" the younger boy replied, fully intent on his assignment.

"I don't wanna…y'know interrupt or anything, but…what are you doing? Exactly?"

"I'm just running a quick examination of a particular specimen. It's for my Anatomy 360 class."

"I understand that, but…is there a reason I'm the specimen?"

Chopper's large brown eyes looked up from where they'd been intently watching the pull of the older man's forearm muscles as he rotated the limb around. The boy's demeanor changed instantly, as though a switch had been thrown.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I should have asked first, right? I'm really sorry, Zoro! I just wanted to get my observation notes finished before class tomorrow, so I grabbed whoever walked by! I'm really _really_ sorry!"

Zoro just rolled his eyes and leaned back further into the cushions of the couch. "Not like I care. Just wondering, kid. Calm down."

Chopper beamed blindingly at the swordsman. "Thanks a lot, Zoro!" he cried, before reverting back into Student Mode, moving on to the intricate workings of the large, tanned hands.

He bent the long fingers, gently but persistently testing they're flexibility, their give; he rolled the wrist carefully, watching how the ropes of muscle ripple up the arm with the movement. He judged the width and size, made notes on the length of each digit, how the veins protruded when the hand was curled into a fist. He closely considered the color and durability of each nail, prodding slightly at the cuticle, studying their cracked and scuffed appearance. He took in the rough, leathery skin, heavily calloused and scarred. He wondered about the scars, too. How had he gotten them? How many did he have? Were there scars on other parts of his body? What kind of life did one have to lead to get hands this worn and strong?

Chopper's eyes turned away to write down his observations, when he noticed his own hands: thin and small and pale and soft. Everything Zoro's weren't. His hands were so…young. So inexperienced. So uninteresting and childish and naïve. They only proved what little Chopper actually knew about life. How little he'd actually lived. How much he didn't know about struggle and achievement and hard times and fending for himself. How utterly useless he was.

How could he ever compare his hands to Zoro's? Someone who'd lived fifty times more than he could ever hope to. How could he ever hope to have the man's respect when he couldn't even respect himself? And he couldn't. He hadn't done anything deserving of respect yet. His hands were so…clean.

Chopper sighed, setting the pen down. Today was a weird day.

"I'm all done, Zoro," he said, closing up the notebook and getting ready to retreat back into the room he shared with the green-haired man.

Piercing snores were the only responses he got.

Casting one last look at the swordsman, he sighed again, and left the older man to his sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxx

"Hey Chopper, what do you want for breakfast?" Sanji asked early the next morning as the young med student came stumbling out of his shared room, fisting his eyes and yawning. How Sanji managed to be alert at this hour was utterly beyond Chopper: the chef woke up before anyone else, and came home well after everyone was asleep (although Zoro was always asleep, so he didn't seem to count).

"Just some toast," the boy muttered, sliding into one of the barstools at the table.

Sanji gave the boy a cursory look, then went back to the bacon he was frying on the stove. "You need more than toast if you're gonna be functional, Chopper. Why do you think you're so tired all the time?"

"Hmm?" he lulled, still half-asleep.

"You've been pulling late nights studying, and you've been skipping meals to do your homework. I know you're worried about your grades and all, but if you're malnourished, you won't retain half the stuff you're trying to learn."

Chopper blinked, head still a bit muzzy. "Really?"

"Yep. So you should eat more at meals. You burn way more calories studying than you've been taking in. You need to keep a better balance. Try this," Sanji said, turning around and presenting the boy with a plate of scrambled eggs, two pieces of toast, with jam, a side of hash browns, and a tall glass of milk. "It may seem like a lot, but eat as much as you can. Whatever you don't finish will disappear into that vacuum of a kid when he wakes up."

"Th-thanks, Sanji!" Chopper gasped, wide-eyed and feeling slightly touched. He reached out to take the plate from the cook, and he didn't know why he even noticed, probably something left over from his examinations late last night, but whatever the reason, Chopper couldn't help but study Sanji's hands as they passed over his breakfast.

They were long and thin, the fingers slightly tapered, like a woman's, but the hands were large, too. The veins stood up noticeably when the muscles strained, the wrist bones protruding at sharp angles. The muscles of his forearms were less coiled than Zoro's, but firm and sinewy; everything very light and lean. The skin looked soft, but Chopper could see the vaguest, pink etchings near the tips of his fingers and the edges of his palm; small scars and little burn marks here and there, littered about the appendages, not doubt from former cooking accidents. The hands were quick and smart, very knowledgeable and efficient in whatever they seemed to do, dancing over the food and utensils, and pots and pans and different knobs in the kitchen, never halting, never getting confused.

How did someone develop such deft skills? How much discipline and hard work went in to training those hands to do whatever the owner commanded?

And again, Chopper looked at his own hands: slow, nervous, unsteady. How could he ever hope to be a good doctor if his hands wouldn't obey him? How would he ever be able to conduct a surgery if he couldn't keep his hands from shaking?

How could anyone so ignorant and untrained succeed in such a delicate field? What made Chopper think he could pull this off?

"Oi, Chopper. Eat up, or it'll get cold," Sanji said, his back to the shaggy-haired boy as he flipped the bacon.

"Kay. Thanks again Sanji."

Chopper ate and tried not to think for the rest of the morning.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Come on, Chopper! Play HALO with me!"

The young boy looked over the top of his textbook to see Luffy leaning over him, grinning hugely.

"I can't, Luffy. I need to finish reading these three chapters in my physics class."

"Awwww! But you always do homework! Why don't you ever play with me?"

"I'm sorry, Luffy, but I just can't --"

"I refuse!"

Chopper blinked at the older boy, who now stood with skinny arms folded, comical frown in place.

"Refuse what?"

"Your refusal."

He stared at Luffy, wondering if he tossed his spare key across the room whether the older boy would chase it or not. Luffy just watched him blankly, dark eyes round and wide, as though there wasn't a thought in his head. Chopper often wondered how he managed to get others to do whatever he wanted, with how easy it was to distract him. He was so simple-minded, it was a marvel he could even –

"PLAY HALO WITH ME!"

"GAAAAAAh!" Chopper freaked, flinging his textbook in the air and darting quickly behind the couch he'd been reclining on, peering around the arm carefully.

"Shouldn't you be hiding the other way?" Luffy asked.

Panicking, Chopper quickly reversed his position.

"Kinda late for that, now." Then Luffy looked over to where Chopper's physics book had ended up closed and upside down on the coffee table. "Yay! You're done studying! Now you can play HALO!" the boy cheered, holding up his game controller and pointing excitedly at it.

Chopper frowned, coming out from his hiding place. "No I can't, Luffy. I've got a lot of work to do if I want to become a good doctor. I can't just blow it off to play games with you --"

And he did it again. He didn't know why, but for some unknown reason, his eyes were once again drawn to someone's hands, this time Luffy's. They weren't big. They weren't incredibly thin. They didn't look strong or deft or skilled or powerful; the skin was smooth, pale, and free of scars or other marks; the nails healthy but slightly chipped.

Utterly and in all ways unremarkable hands.

Hands that smacked Zoro's back when he said something funny; hands that tackled Usopp whenever he walked in the door; hands that cleverly stole food when Sanji wasn't looking; hands that grabbed and tickled Chopper when he was too absorbed with his studies. Hands that played and punched and slapped and waved and clapped and slammed and pushed.

Hands that weren't very strong on their own, but strong enough to keep all of them together.

"Hey, Luffy?" Chopper asked in a meek voice, looking up sheepishly. "Do you think…do you think my hands are good enough to be a doctor?"

Luffy cocked his head slightly, staring at the younger boy. "Your hands can't be a doctor, Chopper. _You_ can be a doctor." Then he cackled, grinning from ear to ear. "I thought you would've known that! You're the one studyin' bodies and stuff!"

Chopper blinked a second, wondering if he should bother pointing out that Luffy hadn't actually understood the question, and therefore hadn't really answered it.

But then Luffy, still grinning and laughing, grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to the TV, hooting and jabbering about how cool the graphics were, and how Usopp designed the game himself from stories of his time in the CIA, and the explosions were so huge and awesome, and Chopper decided maybe Luffy had been right after all.

He did study too much.

* * *

Ain't Chopper just the sweetest? After this chapter, the real story starts up, so you guys have that to look forward to. THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS! I LOVE YOU ALL!!!


	11. Mystery Pals!

Or: With Friends like these, Who Needs an Executioner?

* * *

Luffy wondered about a lot of things. People wouldn't always give him an answer, though, so sometimes he had to make up his own. He didn't mind. His answers made him laugh, and explained stuff well enough, and that's all that really mattered. But sometimes Luffy came across a Mystery: something that he didn't understand after other people explained it, and even _Luffy_ couldn't make it make sense in his own way. Mysteries were fun, though! Like Zoro.

Zoro was a Mystery.

Most of the time, Luffy knew why Zoro did the stuff he did, but every now and then the older man would do things that Luffy just couldn't get a good grip on; things that just didn't make sense for Zoro to do.

Like one day he asked why Zoro never walked around without a shirt on, even though pretty much everyone else in the apartment had at one point. The green-haired man had just shrugged and took a swig from some of his secret-alcohol-stash-in-the-back-of-the-cabinet-by-the-Drain-O, never giving a reply. So Luffy decided it was because Zoro's chest was covered with thick, green hair, like moss, and maybe he didn't want people to see. But Zoro wasn't the kind of person to care what other people thought, so even that didn't make sense. So maybe he didn't like the cold, 'cuz he was really tan, and that's why he always had a shirt on. But short-sleeved shirts don't really keep out the cold, anyway, and if he _did_ have a patch of moss growing on his chest, shouldn't that keep him warm?

Luffy just didn't know.

A Mystery.

But as Luffy walked down the street, cold wind whipping sharply at his face, he wondered something else, like: who were these "friends" they were going to meet? In the months Zoro had been living at the apartment, he'd never once gotten a phone call. Luffy didn't even know Zoro _had_ a cell phone until it rang for the first time earlier that morning. Sanji had jumped in shock, flinging the spoon he'd been using to mix coffee across the room, where it smacked Luffy in the forehead, who fell off the chair and nearly tripped Zoro as the larger man bounded off the couch, scrambling for his phone excitedly as he grabbed for the window latch and ducked out on to fire escape to take the call. Luffy and Sanji just stood frozen, watching Zoro pace back and forth like a tiger in a cage, talking fast into the phone.

And then just as suddenly, Zoro ran back in the apartment, searching for his denim jacket and boots while hurriedly demanding if anyone knew where a place called "Ray's Pizza" was.

"Why do you need to know?" Sanji asked.

"Don't give me that shit right now, cook, I don't have time for it!" Zoro roared from the room he shared with Chopper, the sound of things knocking over following him as he blundered around. "Just tell me where it is and if it's in walking distance. I've got to be there in twenty minutes!"

"It's just up the street on the corner of St. Marks Place and…Cooper..." But Sanji trailed off just as Zoro come tearing out of his room again, one arm through the denim jacket that now dragged along the floor, his phone clutched in his mouth as he stumbled and hopped around, trying to muscle into his black Army boots.

Zoro's eyes shot up, staring frantically at the blonde. "Whah!?"

"Never mind," Sanji muttered, walking over to the kitchen and grabbing his keys off the table. "Come on, marimo, I'll take you there. God knows you'd get lost walking a straight fucking line. Luffy!" he called, and the boy looked up, eyes wide and hopeful. "You come too. I don't want you eating everything in the cupboards. Last time you didn't even leave me any Dawn to wash the dishes with."

"Hee hee!" Luffy laughed, tilting his hat back to show Sanji just how funny it was, 'cuz he didn't really feel like getting kicked. "Yay pizza! And I wanna meet Zoro's friends!"

Sanji just sort of huffed and lit a cigarette, but didn't say anything else, other than to scream at Zoro when the green-haired man called him a nosy-son-of-a-bitch for getting involved. But Luffy didn't mind. As long as his nakama were together, he didn't care what they did. And as long as it included food.

But something finally dawned on the dark-haired boy as the three of them trudged through the chilly gales, nearing the cool-looking pizzeria on the corner: they were one nakama short!

"Oi Sanji, where's Chopper?" the young boy piped up. "Why isn't he here?"

"He had an early test today, dumbass. I left him a text message though; told him to meet us here when he got out."

"Oh okay!" Luffy grinned, satisfied with this answer. "Hey Zoro! Who are we gonna meet? I didn't think you had any friends."

"They're just buddies of mine," the taller man said simply, eyes nailed on the restaurant ahead of them. To anyone who didn't know him, Zoro would have seemed bored, almost uninterested at the prospect of seeing old friends. But Luffy did know Zoro, and he could tell by the way he walked just a bit faster than his usual, loping pace, and how his gaze watched their destination intensely. He was totally focused, and Luffy figured that meant he was really excited.

The bell over the door jingled as the three of them walked into Ray's Pizza, out of the frigid wind. There were only three or four people in the restaurant, and since Zoro didn't approach any of them, Luffy figured none of them were his friends. The dark-haired boy bounded inside, happily throwing himself into a booth seat, because he liked booth seats; they made him feel like he was spying on the other customers from some secret hideout.

Zoro and Sanji followed, Sanji removing his jacket and hanging it neatly on the coat rack near their table, while Zoro just stood there, looking around.

"What? They not here?" the blonde asked.

Zoro merely shook his head, but he didn't seem very concerned, even though they'd gotten to the restaurant a little later than planned.

"Did they ditch you? Some fucking friends. You really know how to pick 'em, eh?"

That did earn a growl from the larger man. "Shut the fuck up, dart-brow. They'll show up when they show up."

Sanji 'tched' slightly. "Y'know, you're real pathetic-sounding when you say that. You just don't want to admit they fucking bailed on you."

Zoro turned to Sanji, anger clearly written on his face, and Luffy didn't know why they were arguing. Or why Sanji seemed to want to argue so much. He was about to ask if something was wrong – maybe the cook was just really hungry – but Zoro was already talking again, his voice low and threatening.

"Look, I dunno what the fuck got shoved up your ass this morning, but it's really starting to piss me off, shit-cook. So why don't you keep your damn mouth shut for once!"

"Why don't you try and make me, shitty-swordsman!"

"You little fu--"

"BROOOOOOOOTHEEEEEERRRRRRRR!!!!!!!"

And all of a sudden, two figures came flying out of Luffy's blind spot, hurtling into Zoro's back and sending all three of them crashing to the floor with a loud _thud_ and a tangle of splayed limbs.

Sanji blinked, at a loss for the moment.

Luffy just laughed, and asked, "So these are your friends, ne Zoro?"

But Zoro's world had narrowed to the two people lying on top of him, wriggling around and trying to hug any bit of him they could get their hands on. He managed to roll over on his back and wrap an arm around each neck, half-choking and half-embracing, laughing like Luffy had never seen him laugh before.

Sanji huffed again and took a seat across from Luffy at the booth table.

"Brother! How the hell are you!" the dark-haired man asked, as he and the other stranger hopped to their feet before hoisting Zoro off the floor.

"It's been a damn long time, Brother! Never figured we'd see you in New York again!" the blonde one piped up.

"I know, it's been a few years, hasn't it?" Zoro asked, still grinning from ear-to-ear. Luffy decided he liked it better when Zoro smiled. "But I still haven't forgotten a damn thing. Hey, Johnny?"

"Yep, Bro?" the dark-haired man asked.

Zoro suddenly slammed his fist into the side of the guy's head, sending him careening into the blonde.

"That's for sending me on a wild goose chase, you son of a bitch!"

But he was still smiling, and the blonde was laughing his ass off, while the other merely whimpered.

"Wild goose chase? But I don't understand!"

"Like fuck you don't. 'Oh yeah, Hawk's _definitely_ in Philadelphia! A friend of a friend of a friend's cousin saw him in the Underground! No joke!'" Zoro growled slightly. "It was that sot, Ol' Red-Eye, dumbass, not Hawk-Eye. I was stuck in Philly for a year and a half because of that shitty info."

"Was it really that bad in Philly?" the man named Johnny asked, rubbing his jaw.

Zoro leveled a look at him. "It was bad enough."

"All right, all right! I'm sorry! Please forgive me, O Mighty One!"

They all laughed again, knocking shoulders and shoving at each other lightly.

"Well," the blonde said, sauntering up to Zoro and draping himself over the taller man, kinda like how Luffy saw Ace lay all over the guys he messed with when he dressed like a girl, "it's good to see our Zo-boy hasn't changed in all this time. He's still got that nasty attitude."

And then he dove in to steal a quick kiss off Zoro's lips, while Johnny squawked in surprise, and there was a muffled noise, as if Sanji's knee had banged the table, but Luffy seemed to be the only one that heard it.

Zoro shoved the man off him the next second, looking pretty unfazed. "Piss off, Yosaku. Before Johnny gets all jealous."

"What? I don't get jealous!"

"Then why are you holding that chair?"

Johnny blinked and looked at the seat he had pulled right out from under another customer, and now had raised over his head. "Huh. How'd that get there?"

Zoro and Yosaku rolled their eyes.

"Men," the blonde sighed.

"Your boyfriend, your problem."

"Hey, I'm right here, you assholes!"

The three men stood there, talking and laughing for a while longer, and even though Luffy was really _really_ hungry, he didn't mind being patient just once. He liked watching Zoro with his old buddies. He seemed different, almost like…he was happy. Not that Luffy thought Zoro was miserable living with them, but he never laughed this much at home. It sort of made him sad, in a way; maybe he and Sanji and Chopper weren't as good of nakama as he'd thought, if Zoro never laughed with them. He wanted to ask Sanji what he thought, but the cook was practically glaring at the salt shaker, and giving off that "don't talk to me or I'll smash your face in" vibe that he usually had whenever he was cooking, or really deep in thought.

That was another thing Luffy was wondering about: why was Sanji so irritated? He bit Zoro's head off for no reason when they first got to the restaurant, and now he was giving these new guys the cold shoulder. Was he upset that he'd had to come to the pizzeria? Had he been busy? Tired? Did he need a cigarette, and couldn't smoke in here?

Or was he just jealous that Zoro had friends other than them?

He shouldn't be. He should be happy that Zoro had friends, because Zoro seemed like the kind of guy who hasn't had a whole lot of people in his life. Like he lived alone a lot. And that was…lonely. And stuff. And boring too, but mostly sort of sad. Luffy was just glad Zoro had people in his life that he could smile with.

Zoro didn't smile enough, Luffy figured. And he wanted him to smile more.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Eventually the three friends sat down, and eventually Luffy couldn't take it anymore and made his hunger known by sneaking under the table and biting Zoro's ankle, which prompted him to finally introduce everyone properly.

"Uh, sorry, got sidetracked. Guys, these are two of my roommates, Luffy and Sanji."

"Pleasure," Johnny said.

"Glad to meet ya," Yosaku threw in.

"Hi!" Luffy cried, shaking both of their hands at once. Sanji merely nodded from where he'd jammed himself against the far end of the booth, keeping as much distance between him and Zoro as possible.

The green-haired man turned then to his roommates. "And these are two old buddies of mine, Johnny and Yosaku."

"You could also call us '_former_ roommates,'" said Yosaku. "Zoro lived with us until about four years ago."

"We are also known as 'previous classmates,' 'sparring partners,' and 'devoted followers,'" Johnny said.

"Although he wasn't really aware of our insignificant existences until about senior year, eh Johnny? After the kendo tournament?"

"No, no, I thought he knew us before then, from kendo class. The whole 'sparring partners' thing, remember?"

"We weren't 'sparring partners,' Johnny. We were 'practice dummies.'"

"Ah yes. Then it was after the kendo tournament. Yosaku here and I were so enthralled by his stellar performance --"

" – Top notch, at no mistake --"

" – that we couldn't help but fling ourselves at his feet in adoration --"

" – Y'know, the whole 'we're not worthy' thing --"

" – showering him with praise, worshipping his skill, proclaiming his greatness --"

" – I think I offered him my first born child, at one point --"

" – and we were so enamored, we convinced him to let us be his followers!"

"Right…wait, didn't he say no?"

"Yes he did. Beat the fuck out of us too. But we wore him down eventually!"

Luffy had to grab his hat to keep it from falling off, he was laughing so hard. "You guys are funny!"

Sanji had finally turned away from studying the wood grain on the wall, although he looked to have been stunned speechless by the couple's crazy story. Zoro merely groaned low from behind the shield of his large hands, where his face had been buried since the two had started talking.

"Ah yes, brings back memories, don't it Johnny?"

"It sure does, Yosaku! How 'bout you, Zo-boy?"

"To hell with you both."

"SO CRUEL!"

That earned another round of laughter, and even though Luffy thought these guys were pretty hilarious, he was still _hungry_! He hadn't eaten in….like, fifty million hours, or something, and his stomach was growling loud enough that people at other tables could hear it.

"Zoooooroooooo!" Luffy whined suddenly, making Yosaku next to him jump slightly. "I wanna eat! Go get pizza!"

"Talk to the one who's got the money."

"Saaaaaaaanjiiiiiii!!!!"

The blonde sighed, as though he'd been waiting for this. "I'm surprised you lasted this long, honestly." He reached in his shirt pocket and pulled out a cigarette that he gnawed on cold. "Fine, what do you want?"

"Everything!"

"Wrong."

"Five larges!"

"Wrong."

"Five mediums?"

"Still wrong."

"Five smalls?"

"Bingo."

"Aw, but Saaaaanji – GACK!"

The cook managed to work a leg over the table and into Luffy's mouth before any more sound could come out.

"You'll get five smalls and you'll be happy. Or no dinner." While Luffy nursed his bruised jaw, Sanji turned to Zoro's friends and asked, "You guys hungry?"

They both smiled, but Johnny shook his head. "No, but thanks! We're flat broke."

The cook's eyes narrowed just then, that scary glare he used whenever food or hunger were involved; a look that promised no end of pain and emotional scarring. "I didn't ask if you had money, I asked if you were hungry."

The two swallowed nervously in unison. "Yessir!"

"Good. I'll grab another for you guys." And then he looked at Zoro, possibly for the first time since Johnny and Yosaku had shown up. "Well?"

"Sure."

"Fine."

With that, Zoro slid out of the booth to let Sanji out, and the cook went up to the front counter to place the order.

Johnny watched as Sanji moved to the other side of the restaurant, and the moment he figured the man was far enough away not to hear anything, he asked, "So what's up with Blondie?"

Zoro's eyebrow quirked as he sat back down. "What do you mean?"

"He's been pouting in that corner since we got here."

"Dunno," the larger man shrugged. "He's been weird all day. Was he this bitchy earlier, Luffy?"

"Nope. It's 'cuz these two showed up," he said confidently, and Zoro made a confused, choking sound.

"Ha! I knew it!" Yosaku crowed.

"Knew what?"

"He's jealous! It's so obvious!"

The green-haired man looked sort of horrified. "Jealous of _what_!?"

"That you're paying attention to other people."

"I always pay attention to other people. In fact, I actively ignore the cook on a daily basis. Why should he get pissy now?"

"Well, because he --"

But Johnny elbowed Yosaku before he could finish, because the next second Sanji came strolling back to their table. "Oi. Get the fuck up, marimo."

Zoro "tched" and stood up, sitting down again after Sanji slid into his seat.

"What was that name you called him?" Johnny asked the cook. "'Marimo?' What is that?"

The blonde looked up at that, blinking back his surprise, probably because no one else had ever bothered to ask until then. They all just sort of went with it.

"Uh…a marimo is a type of moss. They're like little round moss balls. They're all over Japan, I guess. People use them to cook certain dishes, or keep them as pets."

"Is _that_ what you've been calling me all this time?" Zoro cried. "A fucking moss-ball?"

"Would you prefer I call you 'moss-ball,' you ungrateful dick?"

"Well at least it's better than being a goddamned question mark!"

"The fuck did you say, asshole!"

"Hey," Yosaku whispered, nudging Luffy as his two roommates screamed in each other's faces, "are they always like that?"

Luffy just grinned, cackling his triumphant cackle. "Yep! Isn't it funny?"

The other blonde giggled a bit, looking incredibly amused. "Yeah. It is."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Anything Sanji could have cooked would have been better, but the pizza was pretty good: Luffy polished off the five smalls in about five minutes; one minute per pizza. He also helped the others with theirs, if he thought they were eating too slow and weren't going to finish. Johnny and Yosaku had been really hungry, so not much was left of their small. Most of the leftovers came from Zoro, who had a pizza all to himself, although he did elbow the dish towards Sanji at one point, who grudgingly took a piece, despite earlier claims that he wasn't actually in the mood for pizza. Luffy didn't know there was a mood you had to be in to eat pizza. If that was the case, then Luffy was _always_ in the mood to eat pizza! And spaghetti. And steak. And pork. And chicken. And anything that involved all of them thrown together.

"Ah!" Johnny sighed when the last of his pizza disappeared. "That was some damn good pie!"

"Yeah, this place is pretty good," Yosaku agreed, sitting back and patting his stomach. "Glad Zo-boy was in the neighborhood."

"Glad he brought someone along who had any cash."

The two and Luffy started laughing, although Luffy wasn't sure what he was laughing at, exactly. Sanji grinned around another bite of pizza, and Zoro just scowled.

"Okay, all right, teasing aside," Johnny said, patting the green-haired man's arm in a placating manner, "We've had fun long enough. Shall we finally get down to business, Mr. Roronoa?"

A sharp, dangerous looking smirk slid across Zoro's face just then; bloodthirsty and totally different from the easy-going smile he'd had earlier. A sudden tenseness and electricity was in the air now, as the swordsman rested his chin on tan fingers laced together, and murmured, "Thought you'd never ask, Johnny."

Luffy had no clue what was going on, but the charged atmosphere and ominous conversation promised something pretty cool in the works.

"The reason we asked you here, dear Brother --"

" – Well, the _other_ reason we asked you here. Not that we don't just _love_ spending time with you --"

" – is to bring news to you regarding a certain important matter."

There was a dramatic pause as Johnny leaned in over the table, his grin just as wide and dangerous, and Zoro was practically vibrating with anticipation.

"Hawk's in New York."

Luffy blinked, unsure of whether or not he was supposed to know who that was, but a stolen glance at Sanji's blank, staring face meant the cook didn't know either. Though the fact that Sanji was staring at _Zoro_ was kinda funny, since Zoro didn't really seem to notice.

The swordsman swallowed. "You sure? Absolutely sure?"

"I went to the Underground and verified it myself."

At that, Zoro's eyes slowly slid shut, pressing his knuckles into his forehead and looking sort of like he was praying. He was quiet a moment, and no one said a word, not even Luffy; the tension surrounding their table silenced any comments he might have made.

Then Zoro looked back up, the demonic leer pulled back a bit, only a faint grin now, but there was a light in his eyes that was powerful and determined and just a little scary.

"Thanks, Johnny. Always knew you'd come through."

"Sure thing, Brother. Give us a call when you've got something set up. We wanna watch."

Zoro merely nodded, smiling knowingly at the two.

"Well, we'd better head out, right Johnny?"

"Right you are, Yosaku. I think Zo-boy's got quite a bit to think about right now."

"It was nice meeting you two," the blonde said, grinning at Luffy and Sanji, making the cook jump and quickly jerk his gaze away from the man next to him.

Johnny nodded. "Yeah, good to meet you. And thanks for taking care of our Brother. We know he's probably a pain, but he's worth the trouble, really."

"You guys are weird!" Luffy giggled. "Zoro can't be a pain! He's got green hair!"

The older man just smiled.

"Tch. Fuck that green hair," Sanji muttered, before throwing on a pleasant face for the departing couple. "Very good to have met you two. Our apartment's just down the street; don't be strangers."

"Oh we intend to bug the shit out of Brother any chance we get!" Johnny cried.

"Now that we finally know where the elusive prick is!" Yosaku laughed.

The two and Zoro stood from the table then, the larger man wrapping them both in hugs. "Good to see you guys," he murmured sincerely, his smile softening just a tad.

Johnny and Yosaku hugged him back, yelling, "BROTHER!" over and over again, and looking like they might cry. They pulled away after a long moment, but not before Yosaku tried to sneak a goodbye kiss, at which point Zoro punched him in the face and told him to get the fuck away from him. So with laughs and shouted insults, the old friends parted ways, the bell over the door jingling as the two lovers disappeared into the chilly autumn afternoon.

Zoro sat back down with a sigh, staring hard at the table in front of him, and looking a little lost in thought. And Luffy rarely worried about anything, but now he was thinking that maybe the green-haired man was upset his friends left. Maybe he wished they had stuck around, or maybe he was wishing he could go with them. Maybe he regretted moving into their apartment. Maybe he'd rather go live with his old friends again. Luffy didn't want Zoro to leave, and he didn't want Zoro to _want_ to leave, but if it would make him happy…

"Zoro?" he asked, a thousand times more serious than he'd ever sounded before, and both Zoro and Sanji seemed to notice, as they both looked at him with stunned eyes. But he didn't want to ask that. Not yet, anyway. So, he backed down, asking something else he'd been wondering about. Something less scary. "Why are you gonna go see a hawk?"

The tanned man blinked at that, and Sanji shifted in his seat, just as curious as Luffy.

"I'm not gonna go see a hawk, Luffy," he said. "'Hawk' is a person's name; a swordsman, actually. He's the man currently regarded as the greatest swordsman alive. He's been undefeated for the last thirty years in both the international competitions and the Underground: a sort-of-illegal fighting syndicate that encompasses pretty much the whole world. And now that I've finally got him pinned down, I'm gonna challenge him to a duel. And I'm gonna take his title."

Sanji looked like he wanted to laugh in the man's face, or call him a crazy moron, or something; he had that snarky, unimpressed expression that he used when looking down on people. But Luffy knew that glint he saw in Zoro's eyes as he spoke. He knew he looked exactly like that when he talked about going out to sea. And he knew exactly how much the swordsman wanted this duel, how much it meant to him that he has this fight, and how important it was that he win. He understood, could see in the man's eyes the drive and will to succeed, and Zoro was just that little bit less of a Mystery all of a sudden.

"It's your dream," he murmured. A statement, not a question.

The warrior nodded. "Yes it is." His hard-edged tone made it absolute. And Sanji's face sobered in a flash; he wouldn't dare taunt him now. Determination like that couldn't be laughed at. And besides, Luffy knew Sanji wasn't all that different, either. A dreamer can't make fun of another dreamer.

"Johnny and Yosaku said they wanted to watch. Can we?"

A steely grin and a dry chuckle. "Yeah. You guys can watch."

Luffy grinned back and nodded, satisfied with that.

"But Luffy?"

"Yeah?"

"What were you really gonna ask?"

The boy wasn't actually surprised that Zoro noticed. He knew the man well enough, he figured Zoro could tell if Luffy was skirting around something. He did it so rarely, though, that he'd hoped no one would have noticed. His worries crept back up, had never actually left him, and he _did_ want to ask, because he _did_ want Zoro to be happy, but he didn't want to know the answer. Not really. Not if it what he feared was right.

But Zoro was watching him expectantly, and Luffy never lied, so he took a breath, and asked the unthinkable:

"Do you want to live with those guys instead?"

Sanji swallowed slightly, eyes darting down to consider his knuckles and trying to act like he didn't care, but Luffy realized just then why the cook had been acting so strange; he had probably been wondering the same things as the dark-haired boy. And while it had only dawned on Luffy a few minutes ago to worry about it, Sanji had _been_ worrying about it the whole time.

But Zoro was speechless. And Luffy figured he didn't really have to ask, because the answer was obvious just looking at Zoro's face and the way his jaw had dropped to his chest in shock. And he looked like _he _wanted to laugh now, it was all so stupid, but it made Luffy happy anyway that the swordsman said something.

"No," he said. "I don't want to live with them. They're my mates, but that was then. This is now. And I don't want to live with them now."

Luffy grinned, lips pulled from ear-to-ear, and he didn't think he'd be so glad to hear Zoro say that.

"Good! 'Cuz I like you living with us!"

Zoro chuckled, shaking his head a bit. "Idiot."

"You're the idiot," Sanji muttered, rolling his unlit cigarette from one corner of his mouth to the other and refusing to make eye contact with anyone. Zoro, though, did look over at him, and for once there was no heated glare or hard, discerning gaze, but just a calm look, and Luffy hadn't seen _that_ before -- it was an afternoon of firsts, apparently -- and Zoro seemed just about to ask something when the door to the restaurant flew open again, bell ringing wildly as a familiar voice cried,

"I'm late! I'm sorry! Crap! I didn't miss them did I?"

Just then, Chopper came skidding to a halt right near their table, breathing heavily and hunting around for new faces.

"You _just_ missed them, Chopper!" Luffy said. "They left, like, twelve seconds ago!"

"WHAT! TWELVE SECONDS!" the boy screamed. "How could I have missed them by _twelve seconds!?_ AAAAARGH! I knew I shouldn't have stopped to tie my shoe!"

"Jesus, calm down before you burst a blood vessel, Chopper," Sanji said. "It's all right if you missed them, they'll be around. First things first: you're probably hungry, right? Sit down and rest while I get you something to eat. Then tell us how your test went. Oi," and with that he glared at Zoro, "fucking move."

He sighed, but got up without comment and let Sanji out to get Chopper some pizza.

The younger boy plopped down next to Luffy in defeat, shoulders sagging a bit. "So I really missed them, huh?"

"Yeah, but don't worry," Zoro shrugged. "Like the shit-cook said: they'll be hanging around. You'll have plenty of chances to see them."

"Were they nice, Luffy?"

"Hee hee! Yep! And really funny too! They told all these crazy stories about when they went to school with Zoro, and when they lived together, and that blonde guy kissed him, and his boyfriend tried to hit Zoro with a chair, and Sanji was all pissed in the corner, 'cuz he's jealous or something, and something about a hawk in New York, and I don't know what any of it was, but it was SOOOOOOOO COOOOOOL, Chopper!"

"Wait, Sanji's jealous of a hawk that kissed Zoro in New York with a guy with a chair in high school?"

"Yeah! Just like that!"

"WHAT DOES THAT MEAN!?"

"I dunno! Ha ha!"

Zoro groaned loudly and rubbed his face, and Sanji came back just then, kicking him hard in the shin to get to his seat and calling him a lazy-fucking-marimo, which caused Zoro to finally snap, and shoot up from the table, yelling about what a shitty bastard Sanji was being, and soon enough they were screaming, and the other customers were watching in horror, and Chopper begged them to calm down before they accidentally stabbed each other to death, and the sobs of the place's owner could be heard from the kitchen, and Luffy just grabbed his hat and laughed, happy that his nakama would never change, and relieved that they'd always be with him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It had been one weird fucking day, and though Zoro had enjoyed himself for the most part, he was pretty glad to be walking back to the apartment and the couch in the living room that was calling to him. Chopper'd had a long day, too, as it turned out, and no sooner had he plugged his stomach full of pizza, the boy was out like a light and snoring on Luffy's shoulder. Currently, he was draped over Zoro's back, muttering about "arterial" this, and "epidermal" that, and "no, don't make the incision there, it's to the left, along the blah blah blah," and Zoro just chuckled quietly, hoisting the kid higher as he walked down the block, flanked by Luffy and the cook.

"Looks like he wore himself out," the blonde muttered, finally lighting up and visibly relaxing for it. "I guess the test was a bit sketchy; hope the professor gives him good marks."

"Bastard damn well better; poor kid was up half the fucking night studying," Zoro growled.

Sanji hummed in the back of his throat, but said nothing. Luffy was being kind of quiet too, and Zoro honestly didn't think either of them would be so damn effected just by meeting his old buddies. What the hell was the big deal, anyway? It was just lunch, for shit's sake! What the fuck did they think was gonna happen? He'd up and declare he was moving out; grab up all his shit and go live with Johnny and Yosaku at the drop of a dime? If he'd wanted to stay with the Fuck-Wit Twins, he would have looked them up the minute he hit town. But he didn't for a reason; nothing in particular, just that things were different now, and Zoro didn't feel like reliving his old life, which admittedly hadn't been all that amazing. For that reason alone he hunted out another place to stay. And Johnny and Yosaku got it, they understood it wasn't 'cuz he didn't want to live with them, per se. He just wanted something different.

And he may, _may_ have expected it from Sanji, given what a moody shit he could be, but for _Luffy_ to have gotten all worked up over it…then, damn, Zoro must be fucking up somewhere. He didn't hate living with these guys. And he didn't mean to act like he did. It was just…not the same. Not better or worse than living with Johnny and Yosaku, just different all round. With his old buddies, they'd all been the same age; no one had to look out for anyone else, no one had to act responsibly…

_No one to set an example for_, Zoro thought, as Chopper muttered in his sleep again and burrowed his nose in the larger man's collar. It was just different, now. Two of his roommates were younger than him, and Sanji…

Sanji was most definitely _not_ Johnny and Yosaku. Their type of humor was way beneath such a waspish and refined son-of-a-bitch. Although, to be honest, it wasn't really Zoro's kind of humor, either, but he still found their antics amusing, and it was part of the reason he liked them so much. Part of what endeared them to him. But Sanji...he was just hard to peg down. One minute he was a condescending prick to Zoro, so much so that the swordsman started to figure that's just how the fucker always acted, and then the inconsistent bastard will bend over backwards to make one of the girl's happy, or he'll bake cookies just for Chopper if the kid is over-stressed about homework, or he'll humor Luffy with a round of Tekken if no one else will play with him.

And then Zoro has to rethink Sanji all over again.

And Zoro doesn't really want to think about him to begin with, 'cuz the dumbass doesn't really make any sense. And pondering on things that make no sense only leads to headaches, which is what Zoro inevitably finds himself with whenever this subject comes up, so he wonders why he's even bothering to think about it _now_, when he's so well aware of all this.

That's about the time when Zoro gets mad, partly at himself, but mostly with Sanji, for being a shitty confusing bastard, and for never following any sort of discernable logic. For never doing anything that made any damn sense.

"Oi," the bane of Zoro's existence said just then, voice low so as not to wake up the sleeping heap on the larger man's back, "They're good guys, aren't they."

Not exactly a question.

"Mm."

Not exactly an answer.

"They've gotta be, though, don't they? Seeing how much _you_ trust them."

Zoro snorted. "Not much choice there. They practically forced me to. Wouldn't have it any other way."

Sanji made another thoughtful noise, low in his throat, and kept on watching his feet as he walked, never looking up. Zoro wasn't sure why this was happening, was pretty sure it didn't _have_ to happen, but another part of his brain – the part that was slowly and shakily starting to learn how to deal with cook – told him he should just let things run their course. Somehow, for some reason, the cook wasn't quite okay with everything that had gone on that afternoon, and Zoro needed to just let him do whatever he had to to get the fuck over it, so things could go back to normal. It was a fucking pain, but he did feel kinda bad, in a way, that Luffy and Curly-cue had been so certain he despised them that they actually thought he'd ditch them that very second, given the chance.

So he bit his tongue, smothered his own logic, and just let Sanji do whatever. Fucker could be such a woman, sometimes.

"Never knew you had a cell phone."

Random. No segue. Where the fuck had that come from? Forget it.

"Yep. Only one who's got the number is Johnny."

Maybe not the best thing to say, what with all the weirdness regarding this very topic. Zoro's consternation was rewarded when Sanji shot him a quick, almost offended sort of look, that the swordsman had never been on the receiving end of before, at least not from the blonde, and he was stunned for a moment, clueless as to how he should respond.

Didn't matter. Sanji didn't give him a chance to.

"Phone," he demanded, thin hand out-stretched and expectant. Zoro blinked, but reminded himself that thinking was useless when up against Sanji and his bitchy mood swings, and he'd already vowed to let the cook do whatever, anyway. He shifted Chopper carefully to slide a hand into the worn pocket of his jeans and pull out his junky, out-of-date cell phone, which was promptly placed onto Sanji's waiting palm.

The cook flipped the phone open automatically, pressing buttons while frowning slightly, pressing some buttons, and snapping it shut once more. He passed it back to Zoro with an offhand, "My number's ICE in your contact list. For emergencies, and all that."

"Um…" Zoro lulled, confused, unsure how any of that served to make the cook feel better, but convinced somehow that this was what the bastard wanted, for whatever convoluted reason. "Thanks?"

"Your number'll be ICE on mine, too. In case something happens to the kids."

That statement and it's bizarrely domestic ring seemed vaguely familiar, but Zoro was too busy just trying to figure out if the universe still existed. Perhaps his hair wasn't even green anymore.

'Cuz this sure as shit couldn't be Sanji next to him.

Why was this happening? Why did this _have_ to happen? Why did Sanji need his number on Zoro's phone to feel better? What did that have to do with Johnny, and Yosaku, and anything else that had happened that afternoon? Why couldn't this asshole ever make any goddamn –

Ah. Wait. Now _that_ made sense.

Sanji wanted Zoro's number to prove he was just as much a part of all this as Johnny and Yosaku. The swordsman was surprised it took him that long to piece it together, and that _did _make sense. In theory. But Sanji didn't even _like_ Zoro 99.8% of the time, so he didn't get why the blonde idiot felt he had to assert himself as part of Zoro's life.

Yet again, asshole made no sense.

"Hee hee!" Luffy laughed just then, startling Zoro, because honestly he'd forgotten about the guy. "Sanji's a good nakama, ne Zoro?"

Nakama. That's what all this was. All this weirdness and absurdity and drama. Over some fucking word that everyone in this crazy circle of friends seemed to eventually buy into. He kind of hated that word, and all its implications, if only for the headaches it caused.

Luffy kept laughing all the way back home.

Zoro kind of felt like punching him.

He had a headache, goddammit.

* * *

After this, shit starts getting looooooong. And fucked up. Enjoy. Thanks for reading!


	12. Knowing is Half the Trouble

Hey! Sorry about the long wait, my brain died about three weeks ago, and I haven't even finished the seventeenth chapter because I'm a bad person and all that jazz! SO SORRY! Thanks again for all your readership and comments, I deeply appreciate it, and I hope the length of this chapter makes up for my fail! Unless its too long, in which case: SORRY FOR SUCH A LONG CHAPTER! I CAN'T HELP IT! THEY NEVER STOP TALKING! (Seriously, Microsoft Word clocked this bad-boy in at 41 pages. How f--up is that?) But I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Zoro was never really one for big parties, but considering the company he kept, he had no choice but to grudgingly get used to it. But this party was slightly different than other get-togethers his new companions had thrown, given that, for once, it wasn't being hosted at their apartment.

The location this time was, possibly, the weirdest-looking restaurant known to man; a seafood establishment at the South Street Seaport in Manhattan, standing apart from the rest of the historical attractions due to the large fish's head that protruded from the right side of the building, the fanned fin sticking out the left side, and the whole thing capped with a spiky, sea-blue dorsal fin.

The Baratie. The restaurant Sanji worked at.

For all its exterior absurdity, the interior was smartly decorated, and decidedly swank. Way too high-end for Zoro, and it didn't surprise him at all that this was his first time setting foot in the joint, and the only reason for _that_ was because this was a special shin-dig that the owner himself was throwing for friends and associates, and all the food and drink was on the house. Zoro had no idea why, but Nami had shrewdly hinted at some sort of important announcement to be made later in the evening, and Zoro simply shrugged and left it at that.

Probably didn't concern him.

He'd just take advantage of the free meal while he could. And the food _was_ damn near breathtaking. Sort of a shame he'd never eat here again, but he was pretty well consoled knowing he lived with the shit-cook, whose food was at least this good, if not better, and Zoro'd be dead before he ever admitted any of that out loud.

"It's a pretty nice place, ne?" Nami asked, sidling up to the swordsman, a glass of white wine held delicately in her hand. "They're pretty well-off, financially, even if the district keeps trying to close them down."

"Why?" Zoro asked, not entirely interested, but Nami could get down-right frightening if she wasn't humored when she wanted to be.

She snickered slightly, a mischievous look in her eye, and Zoro would never understand how Sanji confused this chick for a refined lady.

"The chefs here are kinda known for their violent tendencies. People round town call them the 'Fighting Cooks.' There's even rumors some of them are escaped convicts and cleaned-up druggies."

"Wouldn't the owner keep them under control? I hear Sanji talk about him like he's a goddamn drill sergeant."

Nami laughed outright at that, and Zoro kind of felt like decking her, but he refrained. "Who, Owner Zeff? He and Sanji are the worst of the lot! When those to go at each other things end up broken, and once or twice someone's had to go to the hospital."

"Volatile pair," he remarked dryly, boredom evident in his voice, and he was doing it on purpose.

Nami rolled her eyes. "Please. Those two make you and Sanji seem positively affectionate. I remember the first time I ever ate here – first time I ever met Owner Zeff – was about two years back, and that day Zeff came trudging up to Sanji while he was giving me a parfait, and started yelling. Apparently Sanji had set the temperature on the meat locker to 32.12°F instead of 32. When Sanji back talked him, Zeff kicked him straight into a table across the room. Then made Sanji pay for the broken table. It was definitely…_unusual_, to say the least."

Now that did get Zoro's eyebrow to quirk in interest. Someone could kick the shit out of the shit-cook? This was a man Zoro wanted very much to meet.

"Who is this Zeff guy, anyway?" the swordsman asked. "I hear about him doing all this crazy stuff. He must be one tough bastard."

"He is. See that guy with the peg leg? That's Zeff."

Zoro's gaze followed the girl's thin finger through the crowd, towards the back of the dining hall where a lone man stood, arms folded over a barrel chest and glowering at the rambunctious group Zoro had come with. The green-haired man was surprised, and yet not surprised that this was the infamous Zeff. A peg-legged man that could send Sanji flying across a room this size was nothing to turn a nose at, that was for damn sure. He looked like a mean son of a bitch, but there was an air of importance about him. Authority. It wasn't hard at all to see why he was in charge of this establishment. He looked like a man who could get shit done.

On the other hand, the man was fucking weird looking. If Zoro had thought Sanji's curly eyebrow was the most bizarre feature imaginable, it was nothing compared to this old man's get-up. He wore the standard chef's uniform, complete with a white jacket, blue sailor's handkerchief around his neck, and a toque about five feet tall. How it stayed on his head was a mystery Zoro didn't feel like contemplating. But perhaps the most bizarre characteristic was the long, absurdly long, braided mustache this man sported. If it hung limp, it would probably reach somewhere around the owner's waist; as it was, the mustache stuck straight out on either side of his face, as though copious amounts of gel and Aqua Net had been employed to keep it that way. Another mystery Zoro wasn't tempted to solve.

"Um," was all he said.

"Yep," Nami replied. "That's pretty much everyone's first reaction."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ace would never say he was an impulsive man. It's just that he was never one to turn down a good idea whenever one occurred to him. And they tended to occur a lot.

And very quickly.

What he would consider himself, though, was a fan of the dramatic entrance. When Ace walked in a room, he wanted to make sure everyone else knew for damn sure he was there. But simply walking through a door and screaming, "HEY I'M HEEEEEEEEERE!" was not really Ace's style. That was more Luffy's approach, and while that definitely got the job done, Ace preferred a little more…flare.

Or a lot more scandal.

So when he hopped from the car that dropped him off at the door of the Baratie, Ace's brain was working overtime, trying to devise the exact perfect way of arriving at this little party. He couldn't come busting through the window again; he'd already done it, for one, and for two, Sanji had literally kicked his spleen to the other side of his body, and _then_ the freakishly-tall-chef's-hat-guy made him pay for, and install a new sheet of glass. After kicking his spleen back into position, and none too delicately.

So that was out.

He couldn't run in screaming about a bomb threat, because there was a chance he'd get arrested – he was pretty sure he heard somewhere that that was illegal – and as tempting as that prospect often was, he did actually have half a mind to _attend_ this party, as opposed to playing bondage games all night.

Plus, again, the cooks would hand his ass to him on a silver platter, with all the trimmings.

That was out too.

Really, there wasn't much he _could_ do that wouldn't result in his arrest or being hospitalized, and anything else he'd already tried before, and he was almost at the door now, he'd run out of time, and like _hell_ was Ace gonna just waltz in a room all boring and shit, but what else could he –

Oh wait. Yes. That was very good.

A little different for him; more subtle than his usual production. But it had plenty of scandal, especially if he timed it right. The car should be parked by now, and it wasn't a long walk to the door.

Oh yes. This would be very, very good.

So for once, Ace slipped quietly through the door, into the large dining hall that was emptier than usual. He kept low, ducking behind tables, trying to avoid the gaze of anyone who'd recognize him. He couldn't afford his cover getting blown. Slowly, ever so slowly, he crept around a chair, edging closer to his target, who thankfully was turned the other way, and hopefully wouldn't be getting bored with that direction any time soon. Carefully he moved, quietly and stealthily. He was almost upon the target now. So close. Just a few more feet, and his master plan would be in action. A few more feet. Just a few more…

Perfect.

Ace launched off the ground, wrapping both arms and a leg around the tall man with the denim jacket and screaming, "Long time no see, sugar!" loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear.

He knew the green-haired stranger would come in handy for something.

A patient grunt jostled the shoulders he was clinging to. "Been a while, Ace. Or should I say, 'Diamond'?"

"Eh heh!" the freckled man laughed, a touch embarrassed. "So Luffy told you, eh?"

"Yep. Gotta admit, that's one of the weirder hobbies I've ever heard of."

"Yeah, well, passes the time…"

"Hey Ace!" a familiar voice shouted, and sure enough, Luffy bounded up to them just then, looking excited as always. "I was wondering if you were gonna show! Sanji said he only got your voice mail."

Ace just grinned at his younger brother. "You know me; I like to make an entrance!"

Luffy laughed, and Ace smiled wider, almost forgetting about the large, pleasingly-muscular figure he was draped over. "So, how're you liking the apartment…er…"

"Zoro," the man clarified, taking a sip of amber liquid from a nice crystal glass in his hand. "S'not bad. I've gotten used to Luffy and the shit-cook -- "

" – Yeah, they can be a handful --"

" – but that Chopper kid's easy to live with."

"Chopper?" Ace frowned. "Who's that?"

"He's a new guy that moved in with us too!" Luffy said, beaming happily. "He's really shy, and he freaks out all the time, but he's nice, and reeeeeeeally funny! He's studying to be a doctor!"

"Damn. That's ambitious. Where does he sleep, though? That dumps only got three rooms."

"The kid and I bunk together in the Long-nose's old room," Zoro said.

"The one next to mine," Luffy added.

Ace nodded. "Ah yeah, that was my old room."

"You lived there, too?" Ace's resting post asked.

"Yep. First it was just me and Luffy, and we rented the third room out to random people. Then I decided to split for Arizona, and Sanji moved in. I guess some time after, that Usopp kid took the third room."

"Apartment's seen a lot of people, seems like."

"Sure has," Ace said, grin turning evil just then as he hiked his other leg up and around the larger man's waist, a bit surprised that the guy's stance never even faltered under the added weight, "but what I want to know is why none of _this_," punctuated by a thin hiss in a thrice-pierced ear, "bothers you at all?"

A shrug nudged Ace up and down, and the man took another listless sip of booze. "Ain't much different than Luffy, honestly," and the boy cackled, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Plus my two best mates are gay, dating, and frequently molest me --"

" – Sounds like a party --"

" – and besides, I know you've got someone. So all this shit's meaningless, and there's not much reason to get pissed about it."

"True," the freckled man conceded. Then he smirked again. "But who's to say I'm faithful?"

"I'm pretty sure _I_ have some say in all this," a deep gravelly rumble was heard from behind them, and Ace couldn't fight the devilish smirk that split his freckled face.

_Right on time_.

"Oh, hey baby!" Ace called brightly, tugging on the green-haired man's shoulders, who obediently turned around to face the solid figure of Ace's own personal police officer. The tall man was glaring right at him, but he didn't mind too much; it was really the only expression in the man's arsenal. He wouldn't be offended, because he knew what Ace was like, and knew there was always some form of delicious penitence following incidents of indiscretion, so there were no worries for Ace in the way of losing his boyfriend.

He just kinda wanted to stir things up a little.

"That your boyfriend, Ace?" Luffy asked with a pinkie shoved up his nose, curious and unsurprised.

"Yep! I've never introduced you guys, have I? Guess I'd always been a bit…_preoccupied_ when I visited New York," he leered.

"Ha ha! Ew."

Ace rolled his eyes. "Anyway, yes, this is my boyfriend, Smo -- "

"How ya been, Roronoa?"

" – ker…what?"

That's when Ace realized that his police officer wasn't looking at him, but rather the man Ace was currently wrapped around. His brow furrowed, eyes trying to bore into the mind of his lover, to find out what was going on, exactly, and why he seemed to know a man who hadn't even been in the city longer than a few months. But, as always, the older man's expressions were a closed book.

"Officer Smoker," Zoro said, nodding his head like they were old acquaintances, and if Ace was crazy, he seemed just a tad bit nervous.

"Surprised to see you back in New York," Smoker drawled. "I figured you'd have skipped town for good after what happened three years ago."

_Wait, wait, they've __**known **__ each other? As in, for a long time!? Since when!? This wasn't part of the plan! __**What the hell is going on!?**_

Ace's brain hit a glitch, unable to process anything that was happening, and his grip on Zoro's shoulders tightened slightly to keep him from simply collapsing to the floor in a stunned stupor.

The green-haired man merely scoffed. "Please. You act like I killed someone."

"For all I know, you have. You wouldn't be the first scumbag to crawl out of that Underground a murderer."

"I've got my pride, unlike some."

"Oh yeah, getting caught by the local police in an illegal fighting ring is really something to be proud of," the taller of the two quipped.

"I don't see why you care."

"You evaded arrest, you little asshole!"

"Not my fault you couldn't keep up."

"EXCUSE ME!" Ace shouted suddenly, smoke practically pouring out his ears from brain-breakage, and fed up with being terminally confused and completely ignored. "I AM PASSIONATELY CLINGING TO SOME OTHER MAN'S HOT BOD! YOU COULD AT LEAST GIVE ME A BIT MORE ATTENTION THAN THAT!"

Smoker's dark eyes leveled on Ace just then, and the banked heat there silenced any further complaints he might have made. "Don't worry. I'll deal with you later."

_Now __**that's**__ what I like to hear_, he mused, thinking of all the yummy things he'd have to do to "make this up" to him, and shivering slightly.

"All right, enough of this," Zoro muttered, no doubt feeling Ace's excitement, and roughly shrugging out of the slighter man's hold.

"Aw, you're no fun!"

"Whatever. That's what your flat-foot's for, ain't he?"

Smoker's brow twitched at that. "So, where you living these days, Roronoa?"

It seemed like an innocuous question, but the way he sneered, the heavy emphasis he put on the question; despite the fact that Ace was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that these two already _knew _each other, he couldn't help the weird feeling that his boyfriend was hinting at something. And whatever it was must have struck something in the green-haired man, because he glared and snarled so hatefully, it honestly sort of scared Ace.

"_Fuck. You._" Low and dangerous and filled with disgust and maybe a hint of something like surprise, and everything in the air around them suddenly seemed sort of wrong.

It didn't last. Zoro stormed off not a second later, disappearing into the crowd that hadn't even paid them any attention, dismissing it as "Ace's Antics" and not bothering to worry themselves. Only Ace hadn't meant for this to happen.

Luffy was dead silent, staring after his roommate for a moment, before looking blankly at Ace, then Smoker, and back to Ace before meandering off in a different direction.

He was pissed. Ace could tell.

Feeling angry and still incredibly confused, Ace rounded on his boyfriend, hissing, "What the fuck did you do? What was all that!"

Smoker sighed and, for the first time Ace had ever seen, looked kind of like he regretted something. Which was weird, because usually the police officer was so sure of himself.

"Probably shouldn't have done that," he grumbled, rubbing his face, then looked up to meet Ace's stunned, accusing eyes. "Go get us something to drink. I'll explain later."

Ace huffed, but turned to head towards the bar. Guy could such an _ass_ sometim –

"Ace?"

He looked over his shoulder at Smoker.

"Make it a whiskey."

Well. _That_ didn't sound promising.

So he went off to fetch him a whiskey, and maybe something for himself, wondering about what sort of connection his boyfriend and the green-haired man had, feeling bad that now Luffy was upset too, and wondering how exactly his plan had gone so horribly, horribly wrong.

It was shaping up to be a long night.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Zoro was pissed. More pissed than he'd been in years. So pissed, he realized that whatever pissed-offed-ness that Sanji had ever induced in him had been nothing but petty irritation by comparison. He'd forgotten, in the years he'd spent wandering around the general area of the East Coast, alone, that he could ever feel such fury. It had gripped him so easily in the past, that he barely even noticed. And it had evaporated so completely and steadily during his stint of isolation, he hadn't been aware of its absence. Barely a blip on the radar screen.

Now, he was so violently conscious of it, he sort of wanted to kill something. Or break something. Or drink himself into a stupor, or yell or train until his muscles burned and his hands fairly bled from his punishing grip. Had it always been this bad? How had he never noticed it before?

He was so angry, it practically hurt. And really, it shouldn't have. Really, he'd been pretty okay with all the things that had happened in his past. He'd never really thought about them. He'd never felt overly sensitive about it when people, as they invariably did, asked those certain questions that he couldn't actually answer. He'd always told them the truth, because he just didn't lie, and they always gave him that shitty _look_, and _that_ had bothered him far more than the actual conversation ever had.

But this…it was a nasty shock, in more ways than one, and it just infuriated him, and boiled his blood, and stung in a weird, stupid way that it really shouldn't have; there was no reason to feel as though he'd been _betrayed_, even though it had been _him_, that chain-smoking asshole of a cop who had bitched at him all through high school, who had caught him in the Underground more times than he'd ever actually written up in his reports, who had been one of a very, _very_ select group of people to really _know_ anything, who had seemed to understand, in his own, stoic, dickish sort of way. And then to have this cop – this fucking _bastard_ – know and understand, and then _sneer_ at it all…it riled him and sent him in a rage so strong and blind, he could _feel_ the wrath as a tangible thing, bubbling up uncontrollably in his chest like acidic bile.

Because he _did_ feel betrayed. And he shouldn't have. Because feeling betrayed meant he had, at one time, felt trust. And trust denoted a connection that he had _sworn to all things holy_ that he was never going to allow himself. Not again.

So he was pissed at the cop, but – he decided as he hunkered himself against the far wall, unable to leave because he would never find his way back to the apartment – in a way he was pissed at himself as well. For letting this happen, without his awareness, even after he'd vowed it wouldn't ever occur again.

And he decided he was _more_ pissed at himself than he was at the cop, and that calmed his rage, to a good extent; helped him internalize it, mentally jot the notion down for future meditation, and it cleared his mind a bit. But his head was still pounding, he felt tired all of a sudden, and the whiskey wasn't really helping like it should have. He tipped his head back against the cool, paneled wall of the restaurant, thankful at least that the first course was over, and the guests were milling around distractedly; it afforded him the perfect opportunity to be ignored, which he rather felt like being at the moment. So he closed his eyes, sighing heavily, and let his mind drift off, too cluttered and weary to really think about all this mess just yet, and only able to follow the gently pulsing, rolling, lifting notes of an unfamiliar tune that subtly weaved its way through the dull din in the room. So subtle, he hadn't even noticed its presence until that one moment of numb stillness…

…Who was playing?

Slowly lifting his head, Zoro looked around for the source of the soothing music, and was unsurprised to find the tall, skinny figure of Brooke, sitting at a piano in a corner of the restaurant, his thin, bony fingers dancing languidly over the keys. Zoro didn't remember thinking to himself, "Hey, I think I'll go stand by Brooke," but soon enough he found his legs carrying him over to the musician who swayed on his piano bench, humming along in a low, smoky lilt. Zoro simply stood there, leaning his arm on the edge of the piano, watching in silent awe as those long digits spun a web of calm and comfort. The tight knot of anger and frustration and disgust in his stomach was starting to uncurl, and his head felt less full of infuriating thoughts.

He took a deep breath. Let it out. Things weren't so bad anymore.

"Music's an enchanting thing, isn't it?"

The murmur was unexpected, but not really surprising, and Zoro found himself just nodding and grunting in agreement. The tune flowed on, pulsing gently in time with his heart, and a distant memory of meditation and training and the lulling sounds of cooking came back to him, but it was gone the next second, followed by whatever other images the calming chords conjured up.

"Never really listened to music much before," the swordsman commented, after another peaceful moment. "S' nice."

"Yohohoho!" Brooke chuckled lowly. "Music is the food of the soul, they say. Unfortunately, music alone doesn't do much to fill the belly! I can't wait for the next course! Yohohohoho!"

Zoro smiled at the taller man, regarding him over the rim of his glass.

"Brooke?" he asked after another still moment.

"Hmm?"

"When did you first know you were a pianist?"

The steady, rolling song came to a sudden stop, breaking the spell it had cast over the green-haired man's senses, and he missed the sensation instantly. But he stared down at the man seated in front of him, worried now that maybe he'd said something wrong. He wasn't sure how, but maybe he'd offended the musician in some way.

The music picked back up just then, half a beat slower than before, almost contemplative, and the corner of Brooke's mouth was turned up just slightly.

"Forgive me. You surprised me, is all. People rarely ever ask the right question."

Zoro frowned, confused, but consoled slightly by the return of the piano's lyrical notes.

"What do you mean?"

"People always ask, 'When did you decide to become a pianist.' But as every artist knows, you don't decide on anything; you were born that way. It's all just a matter of when you finally wise up to things."

It was one of the truest things Zoro had ever heard, and he found himself nodding and grinning just slightly.

"Yeah. I know what you mean."

Brooke smiled up at him, brown eyes peering over the top of his expensive sunglasses, and he just seemed to _know_. Which was what Zoro seriously respected about the older man.

"I had a feeling you did, Mr. Roronoa."

"Zoro's fine."

Brooke smiled wider. "Zoro it is, then."

There was another comfortable silence between them as the song delicately twisted into a new, slightly livelier diddy, still smooth enough to be subtle, but it lifted Zoro's spirits like some sort of pleasant hypnosis that he was perfectly conscious of. It was nice. He'd have to make a note of when Brooke had gigs; he could listen to him play all night.

"Forgive my prying, but what with all the, um, _affection_ that seems to be heaped on you, it does make one wonder: is there a special someone, Zoro?"

The swordsman actually laughed aloud at that, even though he probably should have been more flustered and embarrassed about the subject.

"Not at all. Never have, either."

"Out of principle?"

"More like general lack of interest. I've got dreams and ambitions that take precedence over pretty much everything in my life. People tend to find second place sort of unattractive."

"Yohohohohoho! I suppose so!" Brooke laughed.

"So what about you? Anyone special in your life?"

"Yes."

"Really?" Zoro couldn't help but be taken aback.

"Of course!" Brooke exclaimed. "And her name is 'Baby Grand'! Yohohohoho!"

Zoro snorted, taking a brief sip of whiskey. "Should've guessed."

"Ah yes. I too have yet to find that one special someone. I'm not really looking, either. I'm happy the way things are. All I really need are my ridiculously over-priced-European shades, my ridiculously over-priced-and-exremely-rare-European-cigarillos – neither of which I can afford at all, mind you – and this gorgeous instrument, and I'm in heaven."

"Well ain't you low-maintenance."

"Yohohohohoho!"

"Attention! Attention everyone!" a shout broke up Zoro and Brooke's easy banter. "Attention! HEY! SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU SHITTY MOLLUSKS!"

A sound of _thwacks_ and anguished wails followed the outburst. Zoro looked up to see the tall, intimidating figure of Owner Zeff standing at the front of the restaurant, and the crumpled, decidedly-less-intimidating figures of Luffy and Usopp curled up on the floor in pathetic heaps, whimpering and clutching their wounded abdomens. Sanji stood near the owner, off to the side and slightly behind him.

"As I was saying," Zeff continued with a growl. "There is a reason for all you damn free-loaders being here tonight. We're celebrating a new addition to the Baratie line. Negotiations in have been finalized, and about this time next year, we'll be opening a new Baratie in Phoenix, Arizona."

Polite applause and loud, obnoxious cheering erupted around the dining hall. Zeff glared imperiously out at the small crowd of well-wishers, looking like he didn't give one good goddamn if these people were pleased for him or not, and honestly, Zoro didn't expect anything less from the grizzly old man. What did strike him as odd, however, was when his gaze slid slightly to the left, and he noticed that Sanji wasn't making eye contact with anyone. He wasn't smiling. He wasn't clapping. He wasn't even trying to take credit for being the one to finalize the deal in the first place. The blonde simply frowned, hard and thoughtful, at the polished wood floor and said nothing.

_Weird. Figured the shit-cook would be at least happy; he's the Assistant Head Chef here, for shit's sake._

Following Owner Zeff's announcement, everyone gave another toast, which the owner walked out of after kicking Luffy away from him when the younger boy tried to give him a hug. He simply hobbled up the spiral staircase at the center of the room, heading to the kitchens. Sanji stayed where he was for a moment, since Luffy found him much more approachable, and he and Usopp and Chopper and Nami, and really everyone in their circle of friends minus Zoro and Brooke went up to congratulate him. He smiled at their praise.

Zoro could tell it was hollow. And tired. And that really didn't make much sense.

"Hey Brooke," he asked, when he realized the musician had once more started up the piano, "does Sanji seem sort of…off to you?"

"Hmm?" the lanky man lulled, afro swaying dangerously as he turned to look at the accosted cook. "He's probably just worn out from the party. It's a daunting task, making sure there's enough food for everyone. Especially Luffy; he eats like he has 72 small, starving boys inside of him! Yohohoho!"

Zoro frowned at that, regarding Brooke for a moment before turning back to Sanji. Was he serious? Did he actually think _that_ was why the cook was acting so weird? How well did Brooke even know Sanji? That spindly asshole _never_ got tired of feeding people, Luffy in particular. Yeah, the kid could be annoying as fuck about his persistent hunger, but Sanji had no problems providing for him. Honestly, Zoro suspected Sanji got a bigger kick out of feeding Luffy than he did his beloved women; Luffy never held back on the compliments, and he loved anything and everything Sanji made.

So that sure as shit wasn't the problem.

Then what was?

Watching as the blonde managed to drag himself away from his adoring friends, following the path his boss had taken up the staircase, Zoro decided he was gonna figure this out.

At least it'd take his mind off his own shit for a little while.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The upper level of the restaurant wasn't really as nice and expansive as Zoro had been anticipating. He'd sort of figured that he'd step off the stairs onto the landing and see another large, fully furnished dining hall. But instead, he climbed up to the second floor, only to find himself in a smallish storage room of sorts, with sacks of rice and grain and flour and sugar piled along the walls, and crates of bread and cooking wine and fresh vegetables soon to be moved to the freezer, and jars of olives and pickles and peaches and other weird, floating things that Zoro really couldn't identify were stacked haphazardly in the relatively small room. To his left was an open doorway that seemed to lead down a darkened hallway, and he could barely make out the frames of other doors lining the wall.

To his right was his ultimate goal: the kitchen. Heat and delicious scents wafted out of the oddly Western-style swinging doors, behind which he could hear sizzling and boiling and violent shouts and banging utensils. With three quick strides across the small space, Zoro pushed the door in slightly, looking over the top to see if he could spot the shit-cook. To his luck, he wasn't very difficult to find.

For one, Sanji was the only one who didn't wear the traditional chef's attire, making his blue, pin-striped dress shirt stick out like a sore thumb. Also, the stove he happened to be working at was no more than five feet away from the door where Zoro stood. For this, the swordsman was rather thankful, since he honestly didn't have a single clue how to properly navigate a kitchen, and was pretty sure he'd get lost irrevocably if he even tried.

"Hey," he said, moving over towards the blonde carefully, not wanting to catch him off guard. Sanji could get a little tunnel-visioned when he cooked, and interrupting him suddenly often ended with a shoe in the face.

Sanji didn't spare him a glance, that thoughtful frown still creasing his forehead, and only muttered, "The hell are you doing here, marimo?"

"You're acting weird. What's your problem?"

The cook snorted, not at all amused. "I could ask you the same thing, asshole, seeing as you've been sulking in the corner with Brooke for half the damn night."

Feeling a spike of annoyance and something that Zoro was refusing was hurt of any sort prick in his gut, the green-haired man had to swallow down a pissed growl, determined not to lose focus of his reason for coming up here, which was: to forget his own shit for a little while. It didn't really seem to be working.

"Look, you work here, right? I figured you'd be excited about your restaurant expanding, not all pouty and pissy."

"It's _not_ my restaurant," was the acidic reply, and Sanji was looking at Zoro now, glaring through his blonde fringe so fitfully the swordsman would not have been surprised if the cook started breathing fire.

Zoro grunted, running a hand through his hair, trying not to be too much of an asshole despite how much he'd really like to punch the prissy bastard in the face for being so damn difficult.

"I'm just wondering what's wrong with you."

Sanji sighed, tired and obviously irritated, and Zoro figured the cook could just take his annoyance and shove it, for all the trouble it was worth.

The smaller man rested his hands heavily on the edge of the stove in front of him, and slowly turned his head to face Zoro fully, his expression weary but otherwise completely blank.

"It's. None. Of your fucking business," he said, slowly and deliberately, like Zoro was a goddamn moron, and he wanted to choke that asshole so badly. "Got it?"

He glared firmly at the cook, shocked that he almost felt more pissed at the bastard's shitty attitude than he had about anything else that entire evening.

Exhaling in sheer frustration, he stepped off the wall, throwing, "Shit, forget I even asked," over his shoulder before he stormed out of the kitchen, across the storage room, and barreling down the stairs, taking two at a time to put some distance between himself and the blonde bane of his existence.

He should have known better, anyway.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After watching that insensitive asshole disappear down the steps, Sanji turned back to the pot of sauce he'd been stirring on the stove, mixing its contents maybe a little fiercer than was really necessary.

"WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM, SHITTY EGGPLANT!?" came a sudden roar in Sanji's ear, and a fierce blow slammed into his side, sending him careening to the kitchen floor, and the feeling of that wooden leg was by now all too familiar.

But Sanji had gotten used to it, kind of, and he was quick to get back to his feet, if for no other reason than to figure out what the hell he'd done to piss off the Geezer off this time.

"The fuck is _your_ problem, Shitty Old Man!? I'm tryin' to cook here!"

"Bah! You call that muck 'cookin'? I've seen blind quadriplegics put together better slop than you!"

"What did you say to me, asshole?!"

"I said your food sucks! What the hell are you gonna do about it, brat?" and with that, Zeff round-housed Sanji across the room, into a shelving unit, which promptly crashed to the floor and rained plates and other breakable things onto the floor where they met an untimely demise. "And what the hell are you gonna do about that green-haired shithead that was in here? AND WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO ABOUT MY BROKEN DISHES!?"

Sanji rolled over – maybe not quite as quickly as last time, since that fucking peg leg caught him in the head that time, as well as a few mixing bowls – and glared up at his boss.

"My cooking does _not_ suck, Shitty Geezer, it's just as good as yours and you _fucking know it_, I ain't paying for shit that you broke yourself, and what the hell do you mean, what am I gonna do about the marimo? I'm not doin' shit about that bastard, he can take his fucking pity elsewhere!"

"As if he'd ever pity you, moron! And you damn straight _will_ pay to replace all that shit, since it ain't _my_ fault your slow ass can't dodge a hit! AND YOU'RE A HUNDRED YEARS TOO EARLY TO SAY YOUR PIG SWILL'S EVEN _A THIRD_ THE QUALITY OF MY COOKING, YOU SHITTY EGGPLANT BRAT!" Zeff swung his wooden leg down on Sanji, who managed to roll away fast enough this time to evade it.

"Why am I the moron!?" the young cook shouted. "Why don't you ever just say what you're trying to say, instead of pissing me off with shit that doesn't make sense?"

"IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE BECAUSE YOU'RE A MORON!"

The old man swung forward, slamming his over-large toque down on Sanji's head.

"Ow! Motherfucker!"

"You're a moron, moron, for thinking that moss-head was up here to pity you, no matter how much your stupid ass deserves it!"

Sanji frowned at that, his usual bluster draining in light of the immense confusion that slammed into him. "Wait, what?"

"I'm sayin', stupid brat, that Green Hair was up 'cuz he actually gave a damn about you." When he saw the alarm and disbelief that Sanji felt so intensely there was no way it hadn't translated on his face, the old man sighed in irritation, and went on. "Look, you can take my word for it, or you can ignore it, I really couldn't give less of a shit. But if you seriously think that guy has the time to go around pitying people, then you're even dumber than you look. Which is pretty fucking dumb, just so's ya know."

"Oi, fuck you, Old Man!" Sanji yelled, but his mind was already distracted by what his asshole of a boss had just implied.

For one, he was honestly surprised to hear that Zoro was…he didn't want to say concerned, because that seemed to be going a bit too far, but to hear that the marimo actually gave a damn about him was…well, a little hard to believe, at best. It wasn't like he…y'know, _wanted_ Zoro to hate him, but to…and, again, he didn't really want to say it, but…to _care _about him was…weird. Really sort of weird. And way out of fucking left field, but ultimately it just caught him off guard. He didn't really know what he should do about any of it.

But, on the other hand, there was the slightly unrelated, yet entirely irritating fact that _the Old Man_, who'd only seen Zoro for the first time that night, had never even been introduced, hadn't spoken to or really even _observed_ the bastard for more than a few seconds, already seemed to know the green-haired man better than Sanji did. And Sanji _lived _with this bastard. He'd shared meals with him, and fought with him, and listened to his insufferable snoring every single goddamn night, so one would _think_ he'd pretty much have the swordsman pegged, and _still_. Still, some total stranger could manage to see all this stuff that Sanji should have already known. It really got on his nerves, and he didn't have a single clue why. But he was damn sure gonna fix this.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Stupid cook_, Zoro fumed, rounding the final twist in the spiral staircase. _Last time I ever try and be a decent fucking person to him. Just blows up in my goddamned face_.

He didn't know why he was so pissed, other than that he'd been pissed for a good hour and a half now, and that really couldn't be healthy given his urge to destroy things hadn't abated much, had in fact doubled since his infuriating encounter with the curlicue dick-face.

But he really couldn't take too much more of this. Hopefully the rest of the evening would just pan by without anymore incident, and Zoro could just get back to the apartment, and sleep until he no longer felt homicidal.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sanji put the stove on low, and assigned some random trainee to watch the sauce pot while he darted through the kitchen doors, into the make-shift storage room, and leaping down the first four steps, trying to catch up to the swordsman. What he'd say when he got a hold of him, he really didn't know, since he didn't feel any remorse for being an ass so much as he just wanted to confirm what his boss had said. Maybe try and seem like a nice guy by asking why Zoro had been ticked in the first place, regardless of whether he gave a shit.

And he didn't, not really. It wasn't curiosity that drove him. He just really wanted to prove a point, to stick it to the Old Man and show him Sanji could figure things out about people too, even though the geezer had probably already forgotten about it. It didn't matter. Sanji felt it his duty to contradict the man, no matter what the stakes.

Even if he had to give the green-haired idiot the false impression that Sanji actually _cared_ about his stupid ass.

Because he didn't. Not at all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Just get another whiskey, maybe sit in the corner near the music again, and wait 'til the shitty party is over_, Zoro told himself in an attempt to soothe the rage that was simmering just under his collar. _It can't take too much longer…even if it looked like they were cooking up another feast in there….shit_.

But he shook his head, refusing to succumb to the weakness of undirected aggression. He'd trained that shit out of himself years ago, and he wasn't about to regress after all that hard work and start demolishing the fucking restaurant. Besides, he sort of figured Luffy would never speak to him again if he interrupted what would no doubt be a mind-numbingly excellent second course.

_Whiskey_, he thought. _Get a whole damn bottle of the shit and sit in the corner. Calm down. Wait it out. It won't be hard. You can handle this_.

Feeling himself getting a firmer grip on things, Zoro sighed slightly in acceptance as he stepped off the staircase, and it took a bit of the edge off. Okay. He could deal with this.

He could deal with this.

"Oi, Roronoa," a gruff voice rasped nearby.

He was absolutely fucked.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sanji had just rounded the last curve of the staircase, wondering whether the asshole would even _want _to talk to him, and why that was even a consideration, because usually taking Zoro's wants and feelings into account was definitely _not_ on Sanji's list of things worth his time, when a voice he'd never heard and couldn't place suddenly rumbled from just below the stairs.

"Oi, Roronoa."

He heard a low growl in a much more identifiable form as a way of reply, and obviously the swordsman hadn't gotten far. But who was the person who'd intercepted him?

All right. So _now_, Sanji was curious.

He back-pedaled frantically, darting back up a few steps so as to be directly over the speaking duo. The blonde practically stretched out on the staircase, pressing his ear into the worn carpet to better hear their exchange, and feeling fairly positive that he had stopped doing this kind of shit back when he was eleven. Ah well.

"What the fuck do you want?" Zoro asked, his voice tinged with an unbelievable amount of anger. Sanji was pretty sure he'd never heard the swordsman's voice like that, which said volumes about the man's current mood, since Sanji tended to go out of his way to piss the marimo off on a daily basis.

"Look, I…" the stranger replied, sighing a bit, "I probably shouldn't have said what I did earlier. It was uncalled for."

"Damn straight it was, asshole."

"Oi, don't give me any fucking lip, brat. The only reason I snapped was because of your shitty attitude. I can see you haven't changed much."

"Neither have you. Still the same nagging, unbearable dick you've always been, Smoker."

_Smoker?_, Sanji thought, frowning. _Who the hell is that? And how does Zoro know him?_

"Hey, I saved your ass, kid. More times than I ever really wanted to."

"I don't recall ever asking for your help, old man."

"Would you have survived without it?"

Zoro paused, as though he was honestly thinking about the question. Sanji, for his part, was utterly dumbfounded that the proud, volatile swordsman allowed this strange guy to say such heinous stuff to him. The asshole tended to fly into a rage if the cook merely pointed out the simple fact that his hair was green – although his _tone_ was another matter entirely, and usually mocking at that. But Sanji, he didn't take shit like that from anyone, except the Geezer…

…unless this guy was…well, was sort of like Zoro's…

"I'd probably have lived," he said. The lack of utter confidence made Sanji frown further. And wasn't the moss-head normally self-confident? Like, arrogantly so? Why was this conversation so damn weird?

The other man snorted, but didn't contest the marimo's statement. Then a silence followed that wasn't really awkward, just sort of charged with things left unsaid, things that didn't really need to be said, and the cook honestly didn't know how to feel about any of this. He guessed he felt sort of uneasy, like he really was intruding on something that should have been between just the two of them, as though he could sense that they both wanted it that way, but he still couldn't move. He refused to budge from his spot, determined, however guiltily, to figure out what this was all about, 'cuz like hell would he ever actually _ask_ the swordsman anything, and he knew that, now more than ever.

Zoro was intensely private and had no intention of ever telling Sanji anything about him.

Asshole had made that abundantly clear by now.

And really, Sanji figured he shouldn't have been as irritated by that as he felt.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Zoro sighed, rubbing his head where he was sure a vein was gonna explode.

"If you're blaming me for pissing you off, then why bother apologizing?" he asked, feeling very tired all of a sudden.

"I don't recall apologizing," Smoker said, expression less clouded than it had been a second ago, and Zoro took it as a cue that he was trying to make light of things, "I think all I said was, 'I shouldn't have said that.'"

And this man had infuriated him to astronomical measures that night, had caused violent, searing rage to bubble dangerously close to the surface, had sneered and jested at things that Zoro honestly didn't find amusing _at all_…and yet Smoker had always pissed him off. Just about every day of his high school life, and really, he'd sort of gotten over it by now.

That's just how things were. Smoker wasn't malicious, he was just an ass. Zoro knew that, perhaps had forgotten that fact recently, but he knew it in any event.

And he was more okay with it than he figured he would be.

So Zoro chuckled, dryly, wearily, but he chuckled regardless, and Smoker's face relaxed further, although he still looked like he was glaring.

"You're a real dick, Smoker. But I guess I'd been expecting that."

"Expecting it? You actually anticipated seeing me tonight?"

"Not tonight, no. But being back in New York, I had a kind of sneaking feeling I might cross paths with you at some point. I have shitty luck like that."

"Oh, I'd say you have better luck than most, seeing as you're still breathing."

The police officer gave him a pointed look, and Zoro just grinned devilishly, knowing exactly what the older man was driving at.

"I'd like to think I can take _some_ credit for avoiding death this long," the swordsman scoffed, but still smirking slightly, and feeling more at ease with everything, which he realized was a pretty sudden turn about, but he didn't really care. He was too tired of being angry to give much of a shit anymore.

Smoker, however, seemed a bit more taken aback. He frowned further, looking more confused than anything.

"Hmm…" the cop lulled.

"What?" Zoro asked, feeling himself frown in return.

"Maybe you've changed more than I figured."

The swordsman's gaze narrowed suspiciously. "What do you mean?"

Smoker regarded him quietly for a second, grey eyes stern and steady in their scrutiny.

"You're a lot more…contained…than you were in high school."

"Um…" the green-haired man cocked an eyebrow. "Thank you?"

Smoker grunted. "I mean, you don't let yourself stay mad. You know how to calm the fuck down, and you don't just fly off the handle and start demolishing shit."

Zoro just shrugged, unconcerned. "You punch a hole in one brick wall, you've punched a hole in all brick walls."

"I'm pretty sure it was concrete, Roronoa."

"Brick, concrete, whatever," Zoro said, shoving a finger in his ear, unconcerned. "That was then. This is now. I don't do that shit anymore."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_I don't do that shit anymore_.

Sanji blinked slowly, head fairly buzzing from confusion and the dull ache where the bars of the hand rail pressed into his temples. The blonde had managed to squeeze his face partway through the small opening in an attempt to see the man who could turn the shit-swordsman into an oddly obedient child with just a few harsh, well-placed words, but now he was seriously regretting it.

He was seriously regretting even being there.

Because right now, he figured he'd just heard some stuff he wasn't supposed to. He was getting glimpses into Zoro's past that he thought he really didn't deserve. Especially now.

After all, here Sanji'd been ticked and insulted about how the asshole marimo refused to tell him anything about his life, refused to trust him with that information even a little, and _now_ here Sanji was: betraying a trust that he'd been whining about not having. And it was no fucking wonder the moss-head didn't trust him; not when Sanji went around doing shit like this. And regardless of _why_ the cook wanted to know about Zoro's life, he realized in that one moment of the swordsman's admittance of former weakness that this wasn't at all how he wanted to find this information out.

He _wanted_ that trust, for whatever reason. And up until five minutes ago, he would have made a sound argument that he very much deserved that trust. But now, well…he figured he'd just ruined his chances of that.

And yet he wouldn't budge. His face was cold and sore from the metal bars pressed into the skin around his cheekbones, and his knees were creaking from his long time crouching on the stairs, and he honestly felt like maybe he'd done something wrong, and should leave…and there he remained. Because, damn it all, he'd already ruined any likelihood of getting the asshole's trust, but he still wanted to know stuff about the marimo, and since Zoro was never going to tell him anything, and Sanji was never going to ask, he figured he might as well just stay where he was, and continue eavesdropping.

…And on top of it all, it was around that time Sanji realized he hadn't even been looking at the mysterious stranger, which had been the reason for putting himself in this uncomfortable position in the first place. He'd just been staring at the back of Zoro's green head the whole time.

Sanji sighed, and decided he was damned and very, very stupid.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"So, where are you living, Roronoa?" Smoker asked, and he sounded legitimately curious, and maybe the vaguest bit concerned. But Zoro would never bother pointing it out, unless he wanted to piss the cop off. Which he may very well feel like doing later on. "Still living with those two weirdo's?"

Zoro just smirked, trying not to laugh, and said, "I'm staying in the apartment Ace used to share with Luffy. Staying in Ace's old room, as a matter of fact."

Smoker shook his head, taking a large draw off the cigar clenched in his teeth. "Former high school delinquent now lives in the old room of my current lover. Never figured New York would be such a small fucking world."

"It is a pretty weird set of coincidences, ain't it? I honestly never thought I'd come back to New York after you and that witch chased me outta the state."

"What are you doing back here?" the older man said, looking like he'd been wanting ask that for a while.

The swordsman grinned shark-like, lips hooking over teeth in a blood-thirsty gesture.

"Hawk," he said simply.

A vein twitched in Smoker's forehead. Grey fumes puffed more fiercely from between the man's tightly clenched jaw.

"Hawk?" he asked, gravelly voice low and threatening.

Zoro just nodded.

Smoker sighed, looking and sounding decidedly harassed, thin lips pressed in a thinner line.

He took a breath, no doubt to rant the smaller man out, and he was braced for the outrage, braced for the verbal abuse, braced for the shouting…

"What the fuck, Zoro?"

…braced for anything except the use of his given name. Zoro could feel his eyes widening, his mouth hanging open slightly, and the unshakable sensation of the universe having spasmed violently out of order.

"Wh--" he tried, and failed to speak, his tongue still stunned and sluggish. "Wh…what do you--"

"Why the hell can't you just get a regular job, Zoro?" Smoker asked, and there was that name again. "Why the hell can't you just have a normal career, get married, have some ugly brats like everyone else does?"

"I don't get what you--"

"You're throwing your damn life away, Zoro!"

The shout would have no doubt echoed through the room, if Luffy hadn't been singing at the top of his lungs, and if Franky and Usopp hadn't been engaged in an impromptu dance contest that involved a lot of screaming, and if Brooke hadn't upped the tempo of his piano to match all the random noise, and if he and Smoker weren't currently huddled under the narrow space below the stairs. As it was, the shout merely echoed through Zoro's head, reverberating in his ears painfully as he tried to contain his shock, and before he could even _think_ of what to say in return, Smoker had already barreled on.

"You could have gone to university, or joined the police force, or hell, you could have taught a fucking martial arts class, but no! You're still as thick-skulled at you've always been! I'd hoped that maybe you would have grown out of all this stupid shit, but I can see that was a wasted prayer. You've been fighting in that goddamned Underground since you were _fourteen _–"

"—Thirteen –"

"-- and what the hell do you have to show for it? Loan payments hanging around from hospital bills you couldn't afford. A police record that's five folders thick. Oh, and let's not forget the time that asshole Pin Joker and his flunkies had you stuck in a bucket of cement and tried to kick you into the Hudson River. How'd you try and get out of that one, again?"

Zoro sighed, knowing this rant, like so many before it, would not end any time soon unless he played along.

"I tried to cut my feet off."

"How those ankles treating you, by the way?"

He glared. "They, healed, asshole. Just like everything does."

"But what happens when you don't get that chance to heal, Zoro?" Smoker still glared, but that flicker of concern was even more prominent, and it was apparent that he actually gave a shit about Zoro.

And the swordsman honestly didn't know how he felt about that.

The cop went on. "Tell me, Zoro. What happens when you take on more than you can handle? What happens when you push yourself too far? What happens when, for once, you _don't get back up_?"

They'd had this conversation more than once. Zoro remembered distinctly standing in an abandoned hallway of his high school wearing a long robe and a tasseled cap, mere moments before he and his classmates were due to file into the auditorium, when the permanently disgruntled police officer had pulled him aside, into the alcove where the payphone was, and demanded to know what the young man had intended to do with his life. He remembered the exact words he'd said then, and he was going to say them now.

Because in regards to his dreams, nothing had changed in all those years.

Not one thing.

"If I die before I meet him, then that's as far as I managed to get," Zoro said evenly, eyes narrowed, determination burning in his gut. "But I don't intend to roll over and die for whatever fucker happens to pose a threat. I fight to win. And I will."

Smoker looked at him intensely for a moment, an air of futility and barely contained frustration evident in his stare. He sighed again; he surrendered. He had back then at graduation, and he had just now, and every time in between. And it was always sort of a hollow victory for Zoro: sure, he got to waltz free and do whatever the hell he liked, but Smoker was one of very few people to ever really give a shit about what happened to him, and while the swordsman was frequently irate with Smoker, he never wanted to piss him off so much that the older man decided to wash his hands of him. Sure, he could be a pain in the ass, but Zoro found that sort of concern for his well-being kinda refreshing, and he really didn't feel like getting rid of that.

Even if it took him all of nine years to realize it.

Zoro sighed this time, before trying for a cheeky grin. "And hell, who knows? When I've finally achieved my dream, I probably will teach classes, or something."

Another vein twitched in Smoker's brow, and Zoro figured he wasn't the only one who'd been feeling a bit excessively enraged that evening.

"You'll always be a dumb fucking dreamer, won't you?" he groused.

"I'm planning on it," Zoro said, his grin widening, and no doubt pissing the cop off more.

"Hnn," the taller man grunted, pulling out a fresh cigar, biting the end off, and lighting it with the one already burning away. He pushed the old cigar to one corner of his lip before jamming the fresh one in the opposite side, so that his gritted teeth were completely bared to Zoro, in what was usually a pretty intimidating look. "Have you been to the Underground since coming back to New York?"

He didn't sound hopeful. The green-haired man just snickered.

"Nope. Not yet, anyway."

Smoker studied him again, eyes suspicious, grumbling in irritation and visibly clenching his fists.

"You've got something set up, don't you?"

Zoro grinned.

"And you're not gonna tell me when it is, are you?"

Zoro grinned wider.

Smoker groaned, rubbing his face firmly with a large, gloved hand.

"You're gonna give me an aneurism, I can feel it!"

Zoro laughed outright, and it felt pretty good, considering how tense and tight his chest had been since the start of the evening.

"Nah. I wouldn't do that, old man. I need someone keeping me on my toes."

"And the fact that I've saved your ass countless times has got nothing to do with it?"

"Like I said, I never asked for that help. You've just got a knack for showing up at the right place at the right time."

"Whatever, asshole. You wouldn't have feet right now if it weren't for me, and you know it."

"Yes, yes, and my feet thank you heartily. Happy now?"

The police officer growled low, but Zoro just kept on grinning. He felt sort of like a kid again, and for once, it wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation.

But, as had always been the case for Zoro, the feeling never lasted long. As he stood there, smirking at Smoker like the punk-ass he used to be, something suddenly collided with him heavily, nearly knocking him to floor, and reminding him that he was, in fact, in a public place, and that other people were there as well.

"What the fu--"

"That's my line, asshole!" A dark, curly mop of hair was shaken away to reveal freckles and pouting eyes.

Ace.

"What do you two think you're doing, getting all cozy together under here? I AM SICK OF BEING IGNORED!"

A look of disgust and horror passed between Smoker and Zoro, who both shuddered in unison.

"It's not like that, idiot," the older man grumbled, as Zoro wiggled an arm free from the slighter man that now clung to him in a manner very much like his younger brother, and rubbing his damaged ear.

"Well what the hell have you two been talking about all this time? You've been here for almost an hour!"

_Has it been that long?_, Zoro wondered, idly glancing around for a clock, and, not finding one, promptly stopped caring.

"What I do with my time isn't necessarily your concern, is it, Portgas?" the older man asked, leveling Ace with a pointed look.

His boyfriend merely arched a thin, unimpressed eyebrow. "Fair enough. I guess you'll be going home tonight alone then, eh?"

The fact that Smoker -- asshole-extraordinaire and all around tough guy -- the fact that he had just _paled_ at that sort of threat actually made Zoro want to scrub his already-abused ear-drums with steel wool and never think ever again.

"I don't really need to hear this." He turned and glared down at the man still wrapped around his side. "Ace? Move. Now."

"Aw, but I just go he--"

"_Fucking move_!"

He simply huffed, rolling his eyes as he disentangled his limbs from Zoro's and taking a step back.

"You really are no fun," he pouted. But it only lasted a second. The next, his eyes were lit up with a gleam that the swordsman had by now learned to fear when it came from Luffy. He figured it could be no better coming from the older brother.

"I've just decided," Ace proclaimed, looking pompous and very pleased with himself. "I'm gonna make it my life's mission to get you laid!"

Smoker made an unpleasant choking sound, and Zoro could have sworn he heard an echo of it from just above him, but he was a bit more distracted with trying to control the urge to throttle the man now smiling that familiar, triumphant smile to notice too much.

Fucker looked like he'd just found the solution to world hunger.

But before he could voice his all-consuming wish to slice open the man's belly, Ace had already started talking again, his lack of attention span and segue something the swordsman was quickly deciding had to be genetic.

"Ah well," the freckled man said, shrugging off the anger that no doubt radiated from Zoro in waves. "Someone should probably go check on that kid, anyway."

Zoro blinked just then, embarrassed rage swiftly forgotten in wake of confusion, which seemed to happen with increasing frequency, lately.

"What kid?"

"The small one with the shaggy, brown hair."

"Chopper?" Zoro asked, feeling his chest tighten again. "Why? What happened?"

"Well, he was hanging out with Franky and Usopp at one of the tables after the first course was served," Ace said, and Zoro was gonna throttle him if he didn't get to the point fast. "And I dunno what they slipped him, but he was acting sort of loopy. They might have spiked his Coke as a gag, or something."

Zoro was fairly certain he felt something in his brain, round about where his sense of calm and rationality was stored, utterly and completely snap.

And this time, he was pretty sure someone was gonna end up dead.

"FRANKY!" he bellowed, making Ace jump slightly, and even Smoker seemed surprised, but he didn't care; he just charged into the thick of the crowd, hunting out where that big-armed fuck-head was hiding. When Zoro found him, he'd massacre his Hawaiian-shirt-wearing-ass.

Because Zoro had been far too angry that night, and beating the fuck out of someone in righteous retribution seemed like the ideal way to let off some steam.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sensing the impending bloodshed, Sanji leapt to his feet and tore down the rest of the steps, hoping to stop the marimo before he stained any of the table cloths, 'cuz God knows that shitty Geezer would have his ass if anything happened to the restaurant. As it was, he didn't get far.

A large, impossibly strong hand wrapped easily around his narrow shoulder the instant he stepped off the stairs, holding him back. And honestly, Sanji had forgotten about the strange man named Smoker who could verbally bitch-slap the swordsman like no other he'd ever seen, and intrigued he may be, but time he didn't have, not if he intended on damage control.

"I hope you enjoyed hearing all the juicy gossip," the man grumbled suddenly, making Sanji freeze, and he could have sworn, at one point in his life, that he'd had balls. They must have gone internal.

And he was starting to understand now why the moss-head had been so obedient.

Mother-fucker was scary looking.

He was taller than Zoro by about a head, give or take a few inches, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. His slightly graying hair was slicked back, showing that same prominent forehead and angled brows that Zoro seemed to have. And damn, was this bastard good at glaring. He may very well have the swordsman beat in the realm of sheer irritation and pissed-offedness that could be communicated in a look, and Zoro had been one of the best Sanji'd ever seen. The effect was aided by the two cigars smoking away in his mouth, baring his teeth to the cook, and all around looking capable of murder.

He apparently did not approve of Sanji's eavesdropping. Neither did Sanji, really, as coincidence would have it, but he wasn't gonna say two words to this guy before he had his temperament pinned down.

Mostly because, at that very moment, Sanji happened to catch sight of the gun strapped in a holster at the man's side. Sanji most definitely _did not_ swallow nervously.

"Oh, let him off, Smokey! He's a buddy of mine," Ace said, patting the older man's large chest calmingly and reminding Sanji that he was even still there.

Smoker's gaze, if possible, narrowed even further in dislike.

"I want a chat with him."

Ace pouted. "You've been talking _all night_! When are you gonna pay any attention to _me_? You know: _the guy you're going out with_!?"

His eyes finally shifted from the cook to his boyfriend, the anger letting up slightly, but not by much.

"I'll make it up to you later," he vowed, voice gravelly with something that Sanji wagered wasn't just from the cigar smoke, but he was ending his train of thought right there. "But I need to talk to this guy now."

Ace frowned, looking between the two of them, throwing a glance at the crowd where Zoro had disappeared in his search for Franky, and fidgeting slightly. He seemed unsure.

"Just don't kill him, okay?" the freckled man asked, biting his lip. "He's paying the rent on the apartment, and I don't want my lil' brother out on the streets."

Smoker nodded curtly, his glare softening a fraction as Ace gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before casting one last look at Sanji, as though saying, "God speed," before he turned and swaggered back to the party.

Now it was just the two of them.

Smoker and Sanji.

The cook kinda wanted to kick Ace through a wall.

"What exactly were you trying to pull?" the older man said, pulling out one of the cigars and tapping the ash off.

Sanji shifted from foot to foot. "Um…"

"Either give me a straight answer or I'll deck you across the goddamn room, Toothpick!"

_Just like Zeff_, Sanji thought. And that, in a bizarre way, was a comforting fact. He knew how to tread with someone like this.

"I'd actually been trying to catch up to the marimo," the cook said, pulling out a cigarette and lighter of his own, going for nonchalant and hoping he didn't end up dead for it. "Idiot came up to the kitchen to see how I…to see why I was so pissed earlier, and I snapped at him for it. Then my boss kicked my ass and made me follow the moss-head down here to talk, or something." He blew a line of smoke out, thankful for each passing second that he was still breathing. "And then he ran into you."

"I don't see how any of that justifies you crouching up there like a goddamn kindergartner and listening in on shit that doesn't concern you." The man's tone was sharp and cutting, and Sanji figured this guy cared a lot more about the swordsman than he'd originally let on. He was, without a doubt, immensely pissed about this.

For Zoro's sake.

And somehow, that just really stuck in Sanji's craw.

"Look, I know I did something stupid," the blonde groused around his cig. "I'm not proud of it, and I ain't pleased with myself for doing it. But living with a stranger isn't all that easy, to be honest."

"So then just ask him shit!" Smoker exclaimed, a vein pulsing in his neck slightly. "Jesus, the prick isn't gonna chop your head off for a little curiosity! He's an arrogant jackass, not a demon!"

"He'd kill _me_, I can guarantee it."

"The fuck makes you think that?"

Sanji glared at him, annoyed beyond measure that he actually had to say any of this. He thought about it plenty, and it never really bothered him, but to _say the words_…it made it seem real in a way that he wasn't all that comfortable with. It made him wish he was lying. But Sanji didn't lie, for the most part, and this guy would see through anything he tried to pull, anyway, so it really didn't pay to sugar coat any of this. And that just made it worse to say.

"Zoro hates me."

And Sanji kind of hated this old man.

Especially when said old man started laughing. Hard. Fucker had to take both his cigars out to keep from choking.

Sanji was also starting to understand why Zoro was so pissed earlier that evening. This unbelievable asshole had the uncanny ability to mock a man to his core. Not even Zeff had pissed the cook off so much by doing so little. So Sanji stood there, stewing in his anger, and waited for the dick to quit finding his problems so damn amusing.

It took a while. But, eventually, Smoker managed to calm down, and once he could finally breath properly, said, "You idiot!"

The blonde growled, teeth clenching hard enough to pinch the filter of his cigarette, which didn't help his mood much.

"The fuck did you call me?" he demanded, yanking out the now-useless cigarette and crushing it on the underside of his shoe, pocketing the crumbled remains.

"An idiot!" Smoker said again, glare swiftly returning. "Because you are one, idiot."

And that was pretty much all Sanji could take.

"Where the fuck do you get off saying that shit to me!" he yelled, not caring if anyone heard him. The distinct sound of Zoro shouting like a madman would no doubt distract the other part-goers from his outburst.

_Asshole must have finally tracked down Franky_, he thought, before shaking his head and returning to the situation at hand.

"I call it like I see it, Blondie," the older man growled, unimpressed by Sanji's attitude. "Roronoa's not exactly the nicest guy in the whole damn world, but he's better than some. And you'd probably do well to quit assuming the worst about him."

Sanji didn't like this. He really didn't like this. Sure, he knew Zoro was probably not the biggest asshole he'd ever met, and when he was feeling particularly generous -- which was rare -- he'd admit that the marimo might even be something sort of resembling, in a way, a fairly not-bad person. But to hear this stranger -- this bastard who didn't even know Sanji, or anything about him, or how he and Zoro even interacted -- to have to listen to this guy admonish him for misunderstanding the moss-head, and for unjustly disliking him, even when Zoro was nothing but a total dick to Sanji was pretty much the last thing he ever wanted to hear.

He wanted to know about Zoro.

Not because he didn't understand him, because really, Zoro was not all that hard to figure out.

He wanted to know about Zoro in the vague hope that those facts would prove everything he'd already come to know about the swordsman wrong.

He didn't _want_ to admit that Zoro was, okay, fine, not that bad of a person. He didn't _want_ to admit that the marimo was, in a weird way, oddly responsible, especially at keeping the kids in line. He didn't _want _to admit that he'd somehow learned to anticipate every single word that Zoro could possibly say, well before the idiot ever even opened his mouth. He didn't _want_ to admit that he sort of admired the marimo and all his determination to fulfill his dream, and the fact that he let nothing stand in his way, and if Sanji was honest, he'd say he was even a little jealous of that dedication.

He didn't _want_ to admit that, really, he didn't even hate the swordsman anymore. Because he didn't actually want to stop hating him. It seemed like too much to give up all of a sudden. Like a security blanket. What he was trying to secure himself from, he really didn't know, but it felt like something massive and upsetting and big would come plummeting down on him if he let go of this loathing.

He wanted to know things about Zoro to prove, at least to himself, that the swordsman was actually a really bad person not worthy of civil interaction, or even kindness. That's what he wanted, and that's what he was looking for.

But then Zoro, as only Zoro could do, had gone and messed up something as simple as hate. He'd actually been interested in knowing what was wrong with the blonde. Had sought him out for the sole purpose of checking up on him. Seemed to maybe, kind of, almost give a shit about him.

And Sanji figured he could maybe, kind of, almost give a shit about Zoro. And it wouldn't be so bad.

Hopefully.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Chopper's hoodie was all soaked down the front and smelling strongly of soda and whiskey. His chin was damp from his failed attempts at drinking, and his breath was heavier than usual, panting through his mouth, which was hanging open. His eyes were red and glazed, his hair mussed, and the young boy swayed where he stood, alternating between giggle fits and uncomfortable groans.

Zoro was pretty sure this was a first.

He was almost certain he'd never been so pissed that he _literally_ felt his heart pounding in his eyelids. His blood pressure was so fucked.

And so, ironically, was Franky.

"Heh heh!" the man, who was larger than Zoro, but seeming rather nervous in the wake of his rage, chuckled, hoping to show the swordsman how funny this all was.

Zoro wasn't buying it any time this century.

Usopp was standing slightly off to the side, trying to hold the inebriated Chopper up, and looking worriedly from the boy hanging limp in his arms to the two men squaring off. Zoro didn't blame Usopp. He knew whose idea it had been, and he was pretty sure Usopp hadn't really done more than enable. But Usopp was a good guy, and he wouldn't do anything to honestly hurt his nakama. He knew Franky wouldn't either.

But it had been Franky's idea. And of the three of them, Franky was the only one actually legal to drink, the long-nose only one year shy of the mark. Franky was supposed to be the responsible one. The one to look out for his younger companions.

And Franky was probably gonna die.

"Look, bro, I didn't mean any harm by it!"

Yeah. Zoro knew that too.

"It was just a little Jack in his Coke! He didn't even notice at first!"

Of course he wouldn't, Chopper barely drinks soda, much less whiskey.

"I mean, I was just tryin' to help the kid out!"

Okay. Zoro had officially maxed out his quota of bullshit for the night.

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN, 'HELP HIM OUT'?" the swordsman roared, making Usopp squeak and jerk back, hauling the near-unconscious boy with him. "HE CAN'T EVEN STAND UP! HOW IS THAT HELPING HIM!?"

Franky looked like he felt bad, but Franky was also a proud man, and no doubt didn't appreciate being lectured by a guy nearly a decade younger than him, and Zoro really couldn't have given less of a shit. He didn't hate Franky. He didn't even dislike him in any way.

But he was mad as fuck at him, and Franky kept saying shit that wasn't helping Zoro's temper at all.

"Well hell, Zoro, how was I supposed to know the kid was such a light-weight?"

Shit like that.

Zoro grunted harshly before reaching over, wrapping a hand in Chopper's damp hoodie, and carefully dragging the boy out of Usopp's grasp. He stumbled a bit, bumping into Zoro's chest with a quiet, "Oomph!" before dissolving into gurgling giggles, pawing slightly at the front of the green-haired man's shirt, as though trying to orient his new surroundings by touch. His eyes obviously weren't working too well, because when they did look up at Zoro, they kept darting around wobblingly, as though he was watching three different Zoro's float in a dizzying circle.

He was so fucking shit-faced it wasn't even funny.

None of it was funny. Not a damn thing about this amusing at all, and Zoro wasn't sure why it burned his gut so badly. But he knew Chopper wouldn't want this, would probably beat the shit out of himself when he finally came out of it, and that really bothered Zoro.

And he didn't really need to know why, he decided. He just wanted to take care of the kid.

"Chopper," he said slow and quiet, fingers clutching his chin firmly and giving it the barest shake, trying to get his eyes to center. "Chopper look at me."

The boy's droopy, brown eyes focused, just over Zoro's shoulder, and a lazy grin slid across his small face.

"Hi, Zoro!" he laughed. "I dunno which one of you I oughtta look at!" The boy snorted, his head suddenly too heavy to support, as it dropped forward against the larger man's chest.

Zoro huffed, petting the boy's head gently as he rocked slightly back and forth on his heels, but kept his head pressed against the swordsman, hands curled in the sides of his open denim jacket.

He sighed again. What the hell was he gonna do about this?

"Aw come on!" Franky said, grinning and trying to act like this wasn't the most infuriating thing that has ever happened in Zoro's life to date. "Little Doctor-Bro needs to learn how to loosen up, anyway!"

That. Was. _It_.

"HE DOES _NOT_ NEED TO 'LOOSEN UP,' FRANKY!" Zoro ranted, his eye-sight tingeing red. "He's fucking seventeen! He's in _fucking_ college and he has _fucking_ class tomorrow, and he's gonna be _FUCKING HUNG OVER_! Do you have _any_ idea how disappointed this kid's gonna be when he finds out what he did!? He won't blame you guys, he'll blame _himself_!"

Franky's stare was utterly blank, and slightly ashamed, and Usopp's mouth was hanging open in shock. Half the damn restaurant was probably watching him right now, and Zoro could not have cared less.

"And in case this isn't fucked up enough, that asshole with the cigars is a goddamned cop! What do you think will happen to this restaurant if he finds out a minor's been drinking? Do you think about _any of this shit_ before you do something stupid!?"

"Zoro," Franky started, meeker than he had been a few minutes ago, "Look, man, I'm sorry, all right? I didn't think it'd hit him that much. I didn't mean for anything bad to happen. Honest."

"Yeah, me neither!" Usopp piped up, looking worried and utterly dejected.

And Zoro knew they hadn't meant it; they'd probably expected Chopper to spit the shit out the minute he tasted it. But as it was, the kid was fucking smashed, and Zoro was still pissed, dammit.

"I know you didn't do that shit on purpose, but for fuck's sake, the kid's never even tasted _wine_ before! What the hell did you think whiskey would do to him!?" he continued to yell. "And don't fucking apologize to me, dumbasses, apologize to the kid! When he's sober!"

Both men looked down at their shoes, even Franky, and seemed sufficiently reprimanded.

"I don't wanna see him drinking again until he's _twenty-one_, go it?"

They nodded and mumbled some sheepish affirmatives, with Zoro's disapproving scowl still smoldering over them, but he knew they wouldn't pull shit like this again. They were good guys, in the end, and he knew that.

Suddenly, the hands that had simply clung to his jacket were now pulling weakly but insistently at his T-shirt. Zoro looked down into Chopper's upturned face.

And it wasn't a pretty sight. The poor kid was still droopy, but now his usually pale skin was tinted green, a trail of saliva steadily ran down his chin from his gaping mouth, and he was frowning in discomfort, and not a little bit of confusion.

"Zoro?" he asked, eyes crossed and grimace twisting his features. "Zoro? I don't feel so good…"

Shit. This just kept getting worse and worse.

Not hesitating a second, Zoro bent slightly and scooped Chopper up in his arms, muttering, "Don't worry, kiddo, it'll be okay," before turning on his heel and storming off, hoping to find someone who knew where a bathroom was.

To his luck, and so far the best thing that had happened that night, Sanji just happened to be standing near Smoker at the foot of the stairs, looking bewildered and deeply concerned.

"Hey," he started, "what the hell's -- "

" -- I need a bathroom, now!" Zoro cut him off.

The blonde took less than two seconds to look from his tense face, down to Chopper's shaking, whimpering form, and back again before he spun around, throwing a, "Follow me," over his shoulder, and tearing up the steps, Zoro hot on his heels.

Sanji led him to the top of the stairs, through the crowded storage room, and down the darkened hallway Zoro had seen earlier. The cook dove to the right, throwing open the first door he came to and flicking the light on. Zoro ducked in after him, relief washing over him at the sight of the bathroom, since Chopper had already started dry heaving on the way up, and without wasting another second, he kicked the toilet seat up, set the boy down as gently as possible, and pulled his shaggy bangs out of the way just in time for the first wave of nausea to finally hit home.

And damn, but that boy was sick.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Zoro had blanked out when it became obvious that Chopper was hell-bent on relieving himself of anything he'd eaten in the last five years. He just stared at the back of the toilet, listening the unpleasant sounds of the small boy throwing up, and his gasps and cries and pleas for it to stop, and Zoro was fairly certain he'd have to recant his decision _not_ to tear Franky's head from his oversized shoulders. The poor kid did not deserve this. He shouldn't have to deal with this sort of shit. He was only trying to fit in with the group, and be a part of the fun, and he gets screwed over like this. Zoro felt sick himself, for reasons that had nothing to do with the acrid scent of bile filling the room.

When the puking had pretty much stopped, and the kid's sobs had quieted into soft whimpers, and his body had started a slow and steady sag to the floor, Zoro heard familiar footsteps suddenly, walking into the bathroom from the hall.

He honestly hadn't realized the cook had left.

But regardless of when he'd left, he was back now, carrying a glass of water and a damp cloth, and looked strained and worried when Zoro thanked him with a tired nod of his head as he set the items on the floor beside the swordsman.

"When he's cleaned up, bring him two doors down on the right. He can lie down in there," Sanji murmured.

"Right. Thanks."

"That's the _right_ side, okay? The one that's not left? The same side of the hall the bathroom's on?"

"I got it, cook, knock it off!"

But Sanji just grinned slightly before turning and leaving the room again, and Zoro was surprised that he hadn't yelled right back at him, and even more surprised that a similar sort of grin was working its way up his own face, and Zoro hadn't even been aware of it.

Ah well.

He took the washcloth and dabbed at Chopper's face, who had calmed down considerably, and was in fact barely conscious. He'd groan and frown slightly when Zoro had to shift his face for a new angle, but he never opened his eyes once. When all the sweat and grime was cleared away, Zoro threw the cloth into the sink beside him, and reached for the glass of water.

"Here, kid. Rinse your mouth out and drink some. It'll help the hangover tomorrow."

Chopper cracked one eye, groaned miserably again, and let his mouth fall open. Zoro tipped the glass, allowing a stream of water to trickle in slow enough not to choke the boy. Zoro then set the glass down, helping Chopper sit up over the toilet again.

"That's it," he muttered soothingly, petting the sweaty mop of hair, "nice and easy. Swish it around a bit."

It was a slow process, but Chopper eventually nodded, certain he'd rinsed his mouth fairly well. Zoro took the cue and pulled the kid's bangs back again so Chopper could spit the water out into the toilet. Zoro closed the lid then, hauling the boy back into his lap before flushing all of Chopper's bad experience down the drain.

"I'm gonna take you down the hall, okay?" Zoro asked, trying to keep the poor boy in the loop. "Sanji's got a spot made up where you can lie down."

Chopper nodded weakly, letting his head _thump_ backwards on to the larger man's chest, before closing his eyes and surrendering.

Zoro sighed, grabbing the glass of water off the floor before picking the small boy up, and carrying him out into the hall. He was halfway to the kitchen before he figured he might have turned the wrong direction out of the bathroom, and he about-faced, heading back the way he'd come. He found the bathroom again, and successfully counted down two doors.

Said door was still propped open slightly, a light shining out into the hallway that was still darkened, and Zoro nudged his way into the room. What he found inside was not really what he'd expected. He'd expected to find another storage room, of sorts, with a sack of rice or flour and a blanket for the kid to lie on. He hadn't expected an entire bedroom, complete with a dresser, a desk, photos on the wall, and the small, simple bed set against the wall opposite the door. Did someone actually live here?

But the covers of the bed were pulled back, waiting, and Chopper was very nearly snoring, so Zoro just shrugged it off, moving across the tiny space in a matter of strides, and carefully let the boy down on the mattress.

"Hey, Chopper," he said, nudging the boy slightly. "Chopper. I want you to drink this glass of water, okay? Can you do that for me?"

The boy frowned, grumbling his disapproval with eyes barely open.

"I know, I know. Just drink this glass and you can go to sleep. Promise."

He seemed to think about it for a moment, but finally nodded, allowing Zoro to tip the glass towards his lips again. For however tired he was, Chopper certainly had been thirsty; the glass was empty before Zoro could even blink. The swordsman honestly wanted to get another glass for him; the more water the kid drank, the less fucked he'd feel in the morning. But Chopper was already falling asleep, water dribbling down the side of his chin, and Zoro decided everything else could wait. The poor kid deserved to sleep now. Wiping the boy's chin with the sleeve of his jacket, Zoro leaned him back against the pillow, slipped his shoes off gently, and pulled the covers up over him. He was unconscious within seconds.

Zoro sighed again, pushing clumps of brown hair out of the boy's face, before standing from the bed and heading out the door.

Or, he would have. If a row of framed photos along the dresser-top near the door hadn't caught his eye and curiosity. He was still wondering whose room this was. Picking up a random photo, he studied the image closely: a tall man, with an even taller chef's hat atop his head, and looking markedly younger, stood smirking at the camera, fist digging into the head of a small, scrawny, blonde-haired boy, his one blue eye glaring up at the man bullying him.

Sanji. It was utterly unmistakable. Mostly because he hadn't changed at all in however many years, except to grow significantly taller. Zoro wasn't sure what he thought he'd see in the picture; wasn't certain who he assumed lived here, except that Sanji was fairly close to the last person he would have guessed. Maybe because he knew, for a fact, that Sanji lived with him, and therefore couldn't possibly live here as well. Whatever.

He was surprised in any event.

"Hey, what the hell took you so long? You get lost?" that drawl voice rasped from near the door. Fucker kept sneaking up on him.

Zoro completely ignored the jeer, which said a lot about how very distracted he was by this whole room-thing, and simply held the photo up for Sanji to see, asking, "You live here?"

The cook's curly eyebrow ticked slightly. "_Used_ to live here. I moved out years ago."

Zoro frowned. "But the room's still got all this stuff in here."

"Shitty Geezer's too lazy to clear it out, I guess," Sanji said, acting almost too indifferent. Kinda like he was forcing it. Zoro logged that away for future needling.

"But you lived here, right? So what's with the old man? Is he, like, your father or -- "

"—_Foster_ father," Sanji said, and he seemed to be on a clarification kick tonight. He took the frame from Zoro's hands and spared it a brief glance before setting it back on the dresser top offhandedly. "Bastard found me wandering around the pier one night and dragged me into the restaurant. Gave me work to do and a place to stay. So I stuck around."

Zoro had the feeling he wasn't even getting half the story, but now didn't really seem like the time to try and figure it all out. So he just nodded, and left it off for the moment.

A brief mumble from behind him had Zoro turning around just in time to see Chopper frown in his sleep and roll over, bundling himself tightly in the blankets. The swordsman sighed, which he felt like he'd been doing a lot the last hour, and watched him a moment, unable to deny that he'd become sorta fond of the scruffy kid.

"He's got class tomorrow," Sanji said, sounding a bit hopeless.

"Yep," Zoro said, "he does."

Sanji sighed this time, a tired sigh that told Zoro the cook wanted this night to be over just as much as he did.

"I can stay here tonight, I guess," the slender man huffed. "Chopper will probably freak if he wakes up in a strange place with no one he knows around."

Zoro got the odd impression that Sanji didn't really want to stay over at the restaurant, and he wasn't actually clear on all the details, but the swordsman figured it was sort of similar to why he didn't want to live with Johnny and Yosaku again. There was just something about going back to the way things were that was really unappealing to both of them.

And so, without any forethought at all, the green-haired man found himself saying, "I can stay here, if you want."

He had the briefest notion that maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut, because Sanji turned to blink at him with the most indescribable look; his blue eyes wide, and looking a little stunned, but not blank and confused. More like he was thinking too many thoughts all at once to say or do anything. And Zoro didn't know when he got so good at interpreting the shit-cook's expressions, but it happened, he wasn't sure why, and the bastard was still _just_ _looking at him_, and honestly, Zoro didn't know what the hell to do about it.

It didn't matter. Before anything really could be done, there was an almighty crash from just down the hall, and a sudden cry of, "OWNER ZEFF!"

And Zoro didn't have a clue what the hell was going on, only certain that he had never seen Sanji run faster in the few months he'd known the man. Those long legs bounded across the upper floor in just a few long leaps, and Zoro had to sprint to keep up. The blonde slammed through the swinging doors of the kitchen, shoving past the other cooks and hired hands that stood in a tight circle in the center of the room, yelling at everyone to get the fuck back. Zoro followed in his wake, trying to squeeze into the first ring of onlookers, but with some jostling forwards, and some jostling away, he couldn't get a good look at anything. All he managed to see was the old man laid out on his back, seizing, while Sanji fisted his white chef's jacket and shouted at him.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, YOU BASTARD!?"

Everyone was murmuring shit, and Zoro couldn't catch all of it, but kept hearing things like "heart condition," and, "third time this month," and, "won't take his pills." He continued listening, straining to get a better idea of what the hell was happening, but then Sanji's voice was piercing through him again, and it became fairly obvious.

"DON'T YOU PULL THIS SHIT WITH ME, OLD MAN! DON'T YOU _FUCKING DIE ON ME, YOU SHITTY GEEZER!!!_"

And then, all of a sudden, the man stopped moving.

Zoro swallowed past the swelling dread he felt in his chest, and carefully backed out of the room. It was bad enough hearing Sanji scream like that.

He didn't actually need to see it.

* * *

Forty.........one.......pages.........How ever did you manage to read that? My apologies again for the delay. I'd like to say I'm gonna try and do better, but that's a lie, and I know it. I haven't made much progress since I last posted, and since I've recently developed another soul-crushing obsession with a different fandom, I'm busy combing through every fic and video ever produced on the comm on LJ. It's ridiculous. I'm not writing anything for it, I'm just spending all my free time reading about it, and not writing this. So yeah. A hiatus might be in order (as awful as that sounds). But I shall not abandon this story, so don't worry. It will get finished. But not for a while, at least. My bad. :( Don't hate me!


	13. Contrivances of Bottles and Beds, Redux

It wasn't the first funeral Zoro'd ever been too.

No, the first funeral Zoro had ever been to, he was eleven and soaked to the bone on a rainy, muddy, freezing morning in early spring when the last traces of snow had just barely melted. No churches were involved, but a traditional, Japanese funeral procession had taken place, down a sloppy, dirt trail leading to a private cemetery just behind the dojo. The coffin -- because it _was_ a coffin, not a polished, well-to-do casket, but a plain wooden box -- was lowered into the deep, dark grave that steadily filled with water. Incense burned on a portable alter under cover of a curtain. Lilies were thrown. Everyone went home afterwards.

But this was the second funeral. And it wasn't a dank, drippy, spring morning, but a razor-cold afternoon in late fall. On Halloween, as a matter of fact, and the irony was almost morbidly humorous. There were churches this time around; all harsh angles and emotional sterility. Austere and detached. It seemed like the wrong sort of place to bid farewells to a departed loved one.

Zeff.

Died the night of the party. He'd been rushed to the hospital and resuscitated for roughly six hours: traditionally just enough time to see a priest, but Zeff had declined and in fact laughed in the doctor's face when he suggested it. He had, however, demanded that a lawyer be brought in to revise his will last minute, and Zoro had no clue what could possibly need to be changed so late in the game, but the old man died not too long after the ink had dried on the paper, so it must have meant something to him.

He'd had a persistent heart problem since he was thirty-two, apparently, and just hadn't bothered to care enough. This much Zoro had gleaned from the people around him. Gleaned, because no one would talk out-right about the old man, his earlier life, how he got his peg-leg. Nothing. They were all tight-lipped, like they had something to hide for him. But Zoro had an inkling that the reason no one talked too openly about Zeff was because of his protégé.

Sanji.

Zoro had looked around, during the eulogy, and saw Vivi crying on Nami's shoulder, as the orange-haired girl stroked her arm, tears running down her face; he saw Franky wailing while Robin serenely patted his hand. Luffy was holding a trembling Chopper, looking full of acceptance and respect and hope; and he saw Usopp whispering comforts to Kaya as she hid her face in his chest. Up near the dais of the church, sitting at the organ, Zoro watched Brooke pull a handkerchief out of his shirt-sleeve and dab his eyes. Even some of the workers from the Baratie were weeping. Everyone seemed remorseful and sad and reverent.

Everyone except Sanji.

He sat through the whole service, face tight, angry lines furrowing his brow, fingers twitching slightly in his suit coat pocket, no doubt having a nicotine freak. He didn't look sad. Or remorseful. Or reverent in anyway. He just looked pissed. Angry, as though Zeff dying was an insult to Sanji's cooking, or something equally as bizarre. He looked like Zoro had felt the night of the dinner party, when Smoker had mocked his past difficulties: Sanji looked betrayed.

And -- as it so happened -- Zoro understood the feeling.

He'd wager Sanji didn't care; wasn't interested in hearing Zoro's tale of mutual suffering, and if it had been only a month earlier, Zoro wouldn't have even considered sharing that kind of information. But Sanji just seemed stuck, and everyone else in their group of friends either didn't see it, or didn't know what to do about it.

Zoro did know. And so, he figured, it was his responsibility to try and do something.

Besides. Shit-cook's food wasn't quite up to par when he was moody.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

"And then I said, 'BACK, YOU EVIL FIEND!' And do you know what happened next?"

"NO! WHAT!?"

"…..he _blew up_!"

"EEEEEEEEHHH!!!!"

"USOPP, I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP, I'LL COME OVER THERE AND SLIT YOUR -- "

"NAMI, LOOK OOOOOOOOUT!!!!"

Screams of profanity and the sound of things breaking echoed around the small apartment room where all the friends had retired after the funeral. Laughter and shouts that were steadily slurring due to the steady stream of booze provided by none other than Franky nearly masked the rousing tune of an Irish drinking song coming from near the windows where Brooke had set up his Casanova keyboard. Music and dance and laughter and exuberance, and Zoro was pretty much out of his element. With only one other funeral reception under his belt, he was utterly unsure how he was supposed to conduct himself with this oddly up-beat gathering. Weren't these things usually somber?

But figuring that anomaly out wasn't really at the top of his priority list at the moment.

Well, the _top_ of his priority list was actually defeating Mihawk, but below that, and slightly above buying some new whetstones, was locating the goddamned shit-cook. Bastard had hung around for the first half hour, making sure all the food was ready and in place, and then the idiot hadn't been seen since. At least not that Zoro had noticed, and after doing a thorough scourge of the apartment, was very nearly convinced that the asshole had actually left the party, if "party" was really the proper term for all this chaos. Zoro had just been about to drop the search, to forget about his little plan of talking shit over with the cook, since the track-record so far showed the spindly prick wouldn't give a damn, anyway, when just then, he happened to look out the darkened picture windows, and saw a soft, fleeting glow of orange alight the bottom third of the glass.

And Zoro could spot that particular glow from a mile away, at this point. He'd seen it enough times a day to recognize it.

_So, asshole's been hiding out on the fire escape. Should've figured_, he thought to himself as he weaved through the flailing crowd to get to the wall of windows and unlatched the glass panel that led out on to the metal landing.

Sanji sat on the dingy couch that Usopp had found for them a few weeks ago. It was ugly as sin, and the prissy bastard had refused to let it stay in the apartment, but free furniture was rare to come by, and Luffy had already fallen in love with it in the ten seconds it sat in the living room before the shit-cook threw a hissy fit, so Zoro had simply lugged the damn thing out on the fire escape, and called it quits.

And that's where Zoro found the blonde; slouched so low in the ratty cushions that not even the top of his head could be seen over the back of the couch, long legs sprawled across the narrow space and resting on the rail of the platform, hands shoved in the pockets of his dress slacks, cigarette smoking gently from between his lips. The black, silk shirt he'd worn to the funeral was unbuttoned at the top, the crisp, white tie now hanging limp around his thin neck. His eyes faced forward, unseeing into the darkened street below, lit only by the dirty yellow tinge of the ancient lamp on the corner. A glass of something that sure as shit wasn't apple juice sat perfectly balanced on one angular knee.

He was the perfect picture of dejected irritation.

Zoro harrumphed, whether to signal his presence, or just to vent his own frustration at feeling the need to jump through hoops for this impossible dick, still slightly unclear. So he moved forward, uncaring if the shit-cook wanted to be left alone, because Zoro had already gone through the trouble of finding his elusive ass, and he sure as shit wasn't gonna give up now.

He sat down at the far end of the couch, swirling his own beverage of choice in its glass once before taking a long sip of it. Then he simply sat back, and looked out over the city. He didn't say a word.

He didn't have to.

Because dumbass couldn't keep his mouth shut to begin with.

"Th' fuck are you doin' here, marimo?"

The voice was quiet and hoarse and vaguely sluggish, and generally sounded wrong to Zoro's ears. He frowned into the darkness.

"Wondering where you ran off to," was his nonchalant reply.

Sanji snorted derisively, obviously not buying the swordsman's interest.

There was a pause then, and Zoro got the distinct feeling that, for once, the cook needed to be coerced into conversation. Usually the fucker never shut up, but he chose now of all times to be difficult.

"So," he started, chancing a glance at the depressed blonde, "is it okay? Them partying like that?" He wasn't just making idle chatter; he actually was curious to know the answer to that one.

"It's fine," Sanji muttered. "They throw a party for everything. I'd feel weird if they _did_ act all uptight and serious."

Zoro nodded; he could understand that. It would be really bizarre if, for once, Luffy and Usopp and Franky weren't doing something loud and crazy, and if Chopper didn't clap and laugh and scream, and if Nami didn't scold, and if Brooke didn't play, and Vivi and Robin and Kaya failed to laugh demurely at them all.

But even though everything else was business as usual, there was something missing: the constant proclamations of love, the twirling, the swooning that followed any look from one of the girls, even if it was Nami's glare.

They were missing the shit-cook. And it was really throwing Zoro off. These assholes had beaten their way of life into him so severely, and it was so utterly foreign from his own chosen lifestyle, that the least they could do was keep up the routine now that he'd finally gotten the hang of it. And so, he decided he was going to force the blonde to get back on track and back to his annoying, preening, chick-worshipping ways.

It was the only way for the universe to feel normal again.

"Zoro," Sanji said just then, drawing the green-haired man's attention back to the execution of his plan. The blonde sighed, and started again. "Zoro…why are you really out here?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I told you, shit-cook. I was wondering where you'd gotten to. Hadn't seen you since we all got back to the apartment."

Sanji lifted the glass of dark liquid, that Zoro now recognized as wine, and looked like he was about to take a drink, but stopped halfway, and simply held the glass to his chest.

"You found me," he uttered, lowly.

"What?"

"You found me. You know where I am."

Okay. Zoro was slightly lost, and Sanji wasn't making sense. As usual.

"So what?" he asked.

"So why're you still out here?"

All right, well that was a legitimate question.

"Look, you seemed to take things kinda badly. I wanted to see if you were okay."

The blonde made an odd gurgling noise, halfway between a laugh and a heavy swallow.

"What the fuck do you even care, asshole?" the blonde spat, and there was so much venom in his tone that Zoro was honestly taken aback.

What the hell was shit-cook so pissed about? As far as the swordsman was aware, he hadn't done anything wrong. So maybe he came off a little brusque, but that was just his style, and Curlicue should have known that by now. But he sounded…kinda hurt. Like he thought Zoro was mocking him, or something. Which was stupid, in Zoro's opinion. If he was gonna make fun of the blonde, said blonde would be more than aware of it.

But still. The slender man seemed oddly gutted by the assumption, so Zoro decided to tread with more care than he really thought was necessary.

Bastard could be such a woman.

"Do you think I hate you, Sanji?"

He'd meant it to be a joke. A statement so totally over-the-top, there was no way it could be taken seriously. Which was why he found it interesting when the slighter man's entire body seized up and his eyes went wide as sand-dollars, and Zoro wasn't sure what the hell his problem was.

Sanji swallowed again, blinking slowly before biting his bottom lip and breathing out a low, scratchy hiss.

"Yes."

Oh.

Well. That was just uncomfortable.

Now Zoro blinked, momentarily stunned and staring at the blonde, who had bowed his head forward, shaking his longer fringe of hair so it shielded his face from view.

"…Are you serious?"

A small nod.

Well. Didn't Zoro feel like an immense asshole? Especially since the cook wasn't really lacking the evidence to support his claim. The swordsman _wanted_ to argue, to prove the idiot cook wrong, that he didn't actually _hate_ Sanji, that he didn't even really _dislike_ him, only ever really got frustrated, and annoyed, and sure, sometimes angry, but that didn't mean he _despised_ the skinny bastard! And he would have pointed all that out. In great detail, so the dumbass never forgot it…

….except that he had nothing to back up his case. More difficult still, since Zoro made it a point to frequently demonstrate how much he couldn't stand Sanji. Why should the blonde believe him? He'd probably think Zoro was spouting bullshit, making stuff up and just saying whatever he thought would get the cook to quit sulking, like the asshole Zoro was. He really couldn't prove anything, in the end.

So Zoro sighed heavily, standing up and moving to lean on the metal rail of the fire escape, taking a long swallow off his drink. He felt rather shitty, all of a sudden.

"Fair enough, I guess," he muttered, trying, and failing, to keep _all_ the traces of disappointment out of his voice.

And he was honestly surprised that it bothered him so much, to know that Sanji thought he hated him. He felt like he'd failed, somehow, at something, and he wasn't sure how he could make it better. Sanji would probably distrust anything he said, pass it off as the swordsman merely humoring him, even though Zoro never humored anyone _ever_, regardless of the situation, and he felt the dumbshit should have known that by now!

But he didn't, and Zoro couldn't fix it, and it was irritating. He didn't think it really should be. But it was in any event.

He sighed, and tilted his glass back against his lips once more and got nothing but an onslaught of ice, with the last trace of whiskey slipping over his chin and down his neck. He snarled, since this meant he probably had to go back in now, even though he didn't want to, felt that returning to the apartment was admitting some sort of defeat, and Zoro didn't do "defeat." But he was out of booze, and Sanji despised him, so all in all, he figured he should call it a day. Before he managed to fuck anything else up.

The swordsman had just turned away, grumbling and wiping off the trail of whiskey from his throat, when a low mutter wafted over to him on the soft evening breeze, "Hey. Want some?"

Zoro halted, looking up to see the cook holding out the bottle of wine he'd snuck outside, his face still hidden behind blonde and his eyes avoiding all contact. The swordsman remained stock-still, mouth agape and brain sputtering to a complete stop.

Sanji was offering him some wine. _Sanji_ was offering him some _**wine**_. In what fucking twilight zone did this shit make any sense?! And should he accept? Did Sanji want him to, or was he just being civil? And if he _did _accept, should he stay out here and drink it, or should he go back in the apartment anyway? Would things get even weirder if he stayed? Would shit-cook get even more pissed if he didn't? Zoro wasn't really one to speculate on things over-much, and the fact that he was doing it now was annoying as shit, but, well…

…Sanji just made him do annoying shit, it seemed. Like worry. And Zoro never, under any circumstances, _ever_ worried about _anything_. _Ever_.

Until now.

But even more annoying than worrying was fucking indecision. So he went with his gut, dumped his mutinous ice over the rail, and moved forward, offering the now empty glass to the blonde, who promptly held up the bottle to pour out the dark liquid, lifting his head only high enough to see what he was doing.

That was kind of pissing Zoro off as well, but he was holding his tongue, since regardless of how utterly _idiotic_ the cook was acting, he had just buried his father-figure, and so was excused from being a moron. To a degree. But, honestly, Zoro could only abide so much before he lost it. He _was_ going to talk to the shit-cook, goddammit. He'd already invested this much effort into it, and he was gonna see this through to the bitter end. Whatever sort of end it led to.

So he reclaimed his seat on the couch, sipping at the wine he didn't actually feel like drinking, but it was his excuse for staying out on the fire escape, and Sanji, at the very least, didn't seem surprised that he was still there. Zoro didn't say anything right away, just tried to provide the stupid blonde with a calming presence, so that maybe, _hopefully_, the cook would start talking first.

It was startling how easy it was to predict Sanji's reactions.

"How's th' wine?"

All right, not the vein Zoro was actually looking for, but he'd take what he could get.

"'s fine. Not really my thing, but it ain't too sweet. Kinda perfume-y, though."

"Idiot," the blonde mumbled, and there was a bit of the old snark back, and the swordsman never thought he'd feel so relieved to hear it, "It's distilled berries with a dryer, more refined bite. O'course it's gonna be 'perfume-y.'"

"Hey, this is your style," Zoro countered. "Sure as shit ain't mine."

"That's 'cuz you're an ill-mannered, uneducated dipshit who knows fuck-all about good booze and the only reason you've drank cultured-anything is 'cuz I bought th' shit for you, 'cuz _God knows, _if left to yer own devices you'd be mixin' Jim Beam with Pabst Blue Ribbon and puking yer insides out every goddamn night, 'cuz that's how a 'real man' drinks his booze, shitty marimo-headed, moss-brained _idiot_!"

Zoro blinked at him, taking a measured sip of the annoyingly fruity wine.

"Feel better now you got that all out, spazz?"

"Go to hell," the blonde groused, with just the barest hint of a chuckle, and yeah, he sounded like he felt better.

About damn time, too.

"But seriously," he began again, voice now pointed and no-nonsense, "you, Roronoa Zoro, are sittin' outside in October, when it's cold, with _me_ of all people, drinkin' wine and makin' small talk. Either you're terminally ill, or somethin's up. Just come straight with me."

Zoro sighed, marveling at how much of a dick he had to be for shit-cook to find this so damn impossible to accept.

"It's like I said earlier, asshole. You looked like hell all day, and I wanted to make sure you were okay."

Something in Sanji seemed to snap just then. Zoro swore he heard whatever it was break from where he sat a few feet away.

"What the hell!" the blonde yelled, suddenly viciously angry, whipping around to glare at him, and the swordsman had seen this coming. "Of course I looked like hell, you insensitive mother-fucker, _my fuckin' father just died_!"

Zoro failed to point out Sanji's neglect of the epithet _foster_ father.

"Look, I've seen people who've lost family, and they handled it a hell of a lot better than you are, Sanji," the green-haired man went on in his brutally honest way.

The cook sneered at that. "This coming from the man who's so emotionally retarded he can't convey any feelin's beyond annoyed and pissed off, even to his own _friends_!"

"That's not the point, idiot."

"No, but you're a _fuckin' hypocrite anyway_!" the blonde screamed, rage seeping out of every pore in his body.

Zoro growled. "I never said you were failing to deal with this, I'm just saying you're doing a shitty job of it! You feel betrayed that he died, and I get that!"

"_You don't understand a __**goddamn thing**_!"

"So then tell me about it, you fucking moron! If you talk about it, maybe your stupid ass can get over this shitty funk you're in! It's annoying as hell!"

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU EVEN CARE!?" Sanji bellowed, looking torn and slightly hysterical, fists clenching and unclenching furiously, his one visible eye wide with confusion and sadness and pain and something that looked a bit like fear.

The swordsman exhaled, letting off his excess steam, because he wasn't out here to yell and blame Sanji for anything. Fucker obviously had some issues, and a person can't really be blamed for carrying around some baggage from a shitty life, however frustrating it could be to deal with. So he sighed, and decided to do something that, in Zoro's view of life, was something he really shouldn't ever have to do.

He was gonna have to _explain himself_.

Fucker made everything way more complicated than it needed to be.

"Listen, cook. Contrary to what you may have assumed, I don't hate you. Sure you're dumb, whiny, and irritate the ever-loving-shit out of me, but I don't hate you. I get pissed at you, yeah, but I get pissed at everyone." He paused, thinking about that for a second. "Okay, so maybe I don't ever get pissed at Chopper, but that's really about it. Even my closest friends in the world piss me the fuck off more than half the time, but that doesn't mean I hate them. And even though I get pissed at you doesn't mean I hate you, either. 'Cuz I don't. Got it?"

Sanji's mouth was pressed in a tight, thin line, face paler than usual, his jaw clenched tight, as though he had a tenuous grip on his control. Slowly he turned away, facing forward once more, eyes staring blindly out over the abandoned street.

Screams of mirth and rage and jaunty music could still be heard from inside the apartment. The party carried on without a beat, and Zoro was grateful for it. He didn't really feel like dealing with a large group of people at the moment. Strangely enough, he was feeling rather foolish all of a sudden.

_Huh_, he thought, sipping awkwardly at his previously-forgotten glass of wine, _never figured this would happen_.

He would deny the slight warming of his cheeks until death. Or pass it off as a side-effect of the booze. Even though he never got drunk, or even tipsy. And he never lied. Shit.

"Why?" was the abrupt murmur that barely managed to catch his ear, pulling his attention back to the present situation.

"Why what?" he asked. And now _he_ was avoiding eye-contact.

Shitty cook was infecting him with his dumbness.

"Why don't you hate me?"

Zoro blinked, and turned to gape at the blonde. He felt like he'd done that a lot tonight.

"…What?"

"Why don't you hate me?" Sanji pressed, voice gaining some volume again. "I mean…well, I hate _you_!"

The swordsman arched an eyebrow. "Really?"

"No."

Slight pause. Ignoring the stupid warmth in his face again. When had this conversation gotten so stupid?

"Why don't you hate me?" Zoro finally asked.

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I just don't!" Sanji cried petulantly, and Zoro imagined a pretty amusing pout on his face at the moment. "Is that okay with you!?"

The larger man snorted, hiding his grin behind another sip of wine. "Fair enough, I guess."

"Why d'you keep sayin', 'Fair enough'? What th' hell does that even mean?"

"Oi, oi!" Zoro cut in. "Enough of this shit. I'm the one asking questions, remember?"

"Tch. Whatever, asshole."

Cook was acting like a bitch, but at least he was compliant now. Zoro allowed himself a second or two to marvel at that turnabout before he knuckled down and got to business.

"Now. I get that you feel cheated, or something, since the old man died, but why?" Best approach is the most direct. That was Zoro's philosophy on life. Cut straight to the quick and no room for bullshit.

The sentiment seemed to be appreciated, since Sanji only hesitated as long as it took for him to pull out a cigarette, light it, and take a long, steady draw off it.

"Lots of reasons why I feel cheated. Lot of its got to do with how I met th' shitty old man." He fell silent just then, voice sounding sort of tight, and the blonde quickly took another hit of nicotine for a distraction.

"How'd you meet him?"

Sanji took a deep breath, rolling the cigarette from finger to finger, chewing his lip and seemingly thinking of where he should begin the story. "I worked in th' kitchen of a cruise liner fer a while. It was pretty good work, and they let me sleep in th' hold. Better than th' fuckin' child services." He paused to suck in more smoke and let it out slowly. "Anyway, there was a shitty awful storm one night, and this fucking fishing boat comes outta nowhere, both boats are totally outta control, and they collided. The fishing boat drove a hole in the hull of th' cruise ship and both of them went down. I got knocked unconscious when I fell overboard. It was the shitty old man that saved me."

Zoro frowned. "Was he on the fishing boat?"

"Yep. He was th' captain. He was the only one that saw me fall in, and he went after me. Well," he went on with a sigh, "we washed up on a rock way out in th' ocean. Rocks all along the bottom, too high to climb back up, even if the rocks didn't kill ya on th' way down. No food, 'cept the sacks that the old man managed to grab in the storm. Two apiece. His bag was bigger than mine, 'cuz I was only a kid, and didn't need to eat as much. He told me to sit on one side of th' rock, and he'd sit on the other. We'd give up an alarm if a ship was spotted, but otherwise just ignore each other. So, like any good cook, I rationed out th' food. I had it all planned out: enough food fer twenty-five days."

Sanji's voice went hollow just then, dead and frozen from extreme turmoil, and Zoro had a feeling this story was only gonna get worse.

"I was there for eighty-five days. No one came."

The cook sighed again, shaking his head slightly, trying to drag his mind back out of the past. "Anyway, I couldn't take it anymore, and figured I'd just steal th' old man's food, if he had anymore left. The sack he had was totally full. Looked like he hadn't eaten a thing outta it. I didn't care; I didn't even bother to think it was damn impossible fer him not to 'ave eaten anythin' in eighty-five fucking days. I just pounced on the bag. The old man was saying something, but I wasn't payin' attention, and he wasn't stopping me anyway, so I just tore the bag open, and…"

Sanji broke off again, this time going for his wine glass, which turned up empty. Zoro quickly swiped up the bottle and poured him some more. The blonde sucked down half of it without pausing, and then waggled the glass for a refill. Zoro obliged.

He hadn't anticipated that this shit was gonna be quite as fucked up as it just so happened to be. And he felt slightly like a ridiculous asshole for assuming the shit-cook was just blowing things out of proportion.

A shaky breath, and the blonde was talking again.

"I tore open the bag, and…there was nothing in it. No food. Just some random gold shit and a safety deposit box that'd been cracked open and full of money."

"What'd he eat then?" Zoro asked, frowing. "You said there was no way he could have gone all that time without food, right?"

Sanji nodded. "He ate. Not food, really. He…God, that fucking stupid old man!" The cook gripped his face with one hand and the wine glass with the other. Zoro reached over and carefully but firmly pulled the glass out of his grasp before it broke. Last thing the guy needed was to mess up one of his precious hands.

"Fucking stupid old man," he muttered, squeezing the bridge of his nose and hissing slightly through his teeth. "That fucking asshole gave _me_ all the food, and he…he _fucking ate his own leg_!"

_Peg-leg Zeff_, Zoro thought, awed beyond conception and finding himself with a new, immeasurable respect for the veteran chef. _That_ was how he lost his leg. He ate it, so Sanji could have a chance to live. His mind was fairly well boggled by that.

"The old man collapsed," Sanji went on, voice hoarse. "I thought he was gonna die then. He said, 'If I ever get off this shitty rock, I'll use this money to build a restaurant where all the poor bastards of the world can eat their rotten fill.' I told him I'd help him, so he couldn't die. He said I'd never amount to anything, 'n I called him a shitty old man, and that was pretty much it. A ship came that very day. After a stint in the hospital, he used the money just like he said he would, and opened up the Baratie. I've worked there my whole life, pretty much."

The swordsman nodded, even though none of that, while enlightening, actually answered his initial question. But he played it nicer than usual, let Sanji take a break for a second, smoke a bit, take another drink of wine, before he reiterated what he really wanted to know.

"So, I can see how it'd hurt, now the old man's dead, but why do you feel betrayed?"

"'Cuz," the cook grumbled, throat still sounding fairly thick and constricted, "I never got to make it up to him. I can never repay the debt I owe him; not then, and definitely not now. I never surpassed his cooking. The fucking geezer took some of his best recipes with him. Never wrote them down. And now…" he halted, again, rubbing his face roughly with his palms, looking more stressed and frustrated than sad and devastated, "Now, I don't know that the hell's gonna happen with the Baratie. There's a good chance I'll be made Head Chef. Or he'll put me in charge of the new Baratie in Phoenix."

Zoro shot him an odd look. "Isn't that a good thing?"

Sanji sighed, and the swordsman might have detected a hint of that old tried-and-true irritation that he was so good at inspiring. It kind of made him grin.

"It isn't good, 'cuz I want to open up my own place. Have it really, _really_ be my own, not jus' somethin' I inherited from someone else. Not that I hate Baratie, 'cuz I don't. But if the old man actually has it in writing that he wants me to take it, I can't say no. And then I'd be stuck in a mother-fucking rut."

"I can understand that," Zoro remarked, nodding slightly to himself. "I think you'd run a pretty good restaurant."

Sanji turned to look at him then. Zoro wasn't watching, may very well have purposely been staring at the pirate flag wafting in the breeze as a distraction, but he could feel the other's gaze burning a hole in the side of his head. He could tell Sanji wanted to say something, but he wasn't all that eager to hear what, since he kind of guessed it wasn't anything he was really equipped to handle. At least not at the moment.

Whatever Sanji would have said was a moot point.

What he _did_ say, though, was, "Hey. Can I have my wine back?"

Zoro passed it over without looking. He was feeling foolish again, and figured he really needed to have more alcohol in his system if this was gonna continue. So he drained the rest of his glass and poured out another one, noticing with some forlornness that the bottle was nearly empty.

How much had shit-cook drank, anyway?

But Zoro shrugged off the sentiment, yet again figuring Sanji had had a shit day, and really a shit week, what with all the funeral preparations and what-not, so getting drunk was probably well within the realm of things the cook deserved at the moment.

In the meantime, Zoro was patting himself on the back at having successfully done what he'd set out to do, minus the awkward hiccups along the way that he was planning on simply forgetting about. But what with his mission accomplished, he sort of didn't know what to do anymore. He wasn't all that good with casual conversations, especially not Sanji, particularly not a wasted Sanji, and Zoro was more than somewhat out of his element.

But, as fate and luck would have it, Sanji now seemed to be oddly talkative once the initial hurdle of discomfort had been jumped – and the majority of a bottle of wine utterly drained – and that was fine by Zoro.

Spared him the agony of thinking up more random shit to say.

"Still hate th' old man, though."

And that meek, defeated tone, coupled with the sudden sag in the blonde's shoulders and the pain communicated in it all made the swordsman change his tune abruptly. Made him wish the cook would stop talking, would never speak again, because this was shit he honestly didn't think he could deal with. Zoro could not handle Sanji being this sad and depressed. It made him feel completely lost, and perhaps a little dumb, because he wasn't all that good with emotions.

But Sanji kept talking, seemingly to himself, and Zoro felt obliged to listen anyway.

"He was a fucking asshole. Shitty father. Never gave me credit for any of the shit I did right, and kicked my sorry ass around when I fucked up. He'd beat my ass for no reason. Shitty old man. Never had a good thing to say. Never did th' kind'a shit you always hear about dad's doin'. No Little League games. No parent-teacher conference. None of that shit. Never seemed ta really wanna _be_ my dad, y'know?"

And there he actually turned and looked at Zoro, as though he expected the other man to have all the answers to some question he hadn't even asked, and Zoro doubted he had ever been more ill-prepared for something in his life.

So he just blinked, and waited for Sanji to continue with his rant.

He did not. Because, even drunk and unawares, Sanji still excelled at making Zoro's life difficult.

"Hey, Zoro?" he asked, his blue eye droopy with drink and melancholy, "D'you think I was abused er somethin'?"

And the worst part: he was dead serious.

But if he wanted the swordsman's opinion, he was damn sure gonna get it. That was one thing, at least, that Zoro knew for sure he could do. Consolation? Not so much.

Honesty? Without a goddamned doubt.

"Let me ask you something, cook," the green-haired man started, leveling the other with a hard, pointed look, "Do you hate who you are?"

The blonde frowned, seeming a bit mystified. "No."

"Would you change anything about yourself if you could?"

"No."

"Then you weren't abused. And you don't hate the old man."

The frown deepened, looking suspicious and a touch angry now. "How the hell d'ya figure that?"

"You don't hate yourself; you wouldn't change yourself. So you're happy with you are."

"Yeah, I got that, so th' fuck what?"

"So how do you figure you got to be way you are in the first place?"

Sanji paused, expression clearing slightly and giving way to more confusion than anything. "I dunno…"

Zoro sighed. _I really shouldn't have to do this_.

He resisted the temptation to rub at his aching temples. Shit-cook was such a pain in the ass. Seriously.

"Look, idiot. You got to be the way you are today because the old man _raised you that way_. Get it?"

Sanji blinked owlishly.

_Obviously not_.

But Zoro was determined to persevere.

"Listen, cook, 'cuz this isn't that hard. Because of him being a demanding, unforgiving asshole, you're now the best damn cook in the state – hell, probably the whole country, and you don't take shit from anyone. You sure as hell weren't _born_ that way. You _became_ that way because of the old man kicking your ass everyday and pissing you off enough to want to be better than him. And if you think that crazy chef didn't love you like a son, you're a fucking moron."

Sanji's face went gaunt and stiff, his entire body seizing up defensively, and the swordsman was actually expecting it by now.

"Asshole Geezer just thought I was nuisance."

Yes, Sanji's stupidity was something Zoro had already acclimated to.

This time he did rub his temples, and his tired eyes, because really, this was just re-fucking-diculous. How ignorant could one man be and still function enough to breath? It was predictable, sure, but still absolutely astounding.

"Sanji, that old man hadn't touched a thing in your room since you moved out of the Baratie. It's like a fucking shrine in there."

No exaggeration, either. Chopper'd felt like he had desecrated sacred ground when he came to the morning after the party.

But the blonde just pouted and said, "Bastard was just too lazy to clear it out."

All right. Zoro had officially gone over his limit of bullshit. He'd kept strong and lasted longer than he thought he would, but this had seriously gone too far. If the idiot was _actively denying_ the fact that his foster father loved him, when it was so _fucking obvious_ that he did, then Zoro couldn't be fucked to argue with him anymore.

He was done.

"Cook," he said, voice low and lacking any kind of humor or gentleness. "You had a dad that loved you enough to give you everything he had. Gave his own _goddamn leg_ for you. Saved you when no one else would. Worked to make you the best damn man you could be. You should consider yourself fucking lucky. There are plenty of kids who can't boast any of that."

Sanji's face went utterly blank just then, and he stared at Zoro with eyes widened, and it was kind of freaky, and Zoro didn't know what the hell the blonde was looking at him that way for, until he finally though about. Replayed the last thing he said to the cook, the last statement he'd made, and then he looked away fast, feeling beyond foolish now.

He felt pretty damn dumb.

He had not meant to let that slip. He hadn't meant to make this anything to do with him. It was just a negative side-effect of Sanji and his stubborn stupidity, and it was all the cook's fault, anyway.

Bastard had better not say a goddamn word.

"Hey," that fucking voice called again, quiet in a way that was irritating as hell.

_Don't say a thing. Don't say one fucking word about it_._ I swear on her __**grave**__ that I will murder you if I hear any sort of goddamn __**pity**__ coming from you, of all fucking people, I swear to fucking_ --

"Let's go in."

He blinked, thrown off guard and not a little surprised.

Not what Zoro had expected him to say. At all. And he was grateful for it, honestly.

"Yeah," he exhaled heavily, feeling the apprehension and the irritation drift away just as fast as it had gripped him. "Sure, cook."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

"Yeah. Sure cook."

Sanji nodded, looking back at the metal landing, because looking at anything else seemed dangerous. His head was buzzing with more than just alcohol, but he couldn't quite get a grip on what exactly was making him feel so woozy. He'd gotten drunk before and never felt like his veins were on fire. This was pretty fucking new.

It was probably marimo's fault.

Everything seemed to be. Coming out here, intruding on Sanji's personal hell, asking all these shitty questions, _forcing_ Sanji to talk about shit he'd really rather forget, fucking _pretending_ he actually gave a damn. Sanji didn't want to be pitied. Fucking hated being molly-coddled, especially not by someone like the goddamn moss-head. And _every_ time this asshole showed the slightest bit of concern, it always felt like he was just feeling sorry for the cook. There wasn't anything genuine about it at all.

Except that there was.

But Sanji was refusing to admit it.

Zoro didn't care about him. He couldn't. It'd be weird if he did. Sanji didn't want to get all close and buddy-buddy with the bastard. Not that he really knew why, though. There was just something about it; the mental image of he and Zoro just hanging out, going to movies, having heart-to-heart chats; it really freaked him the fuck out. The merest idea of an inkling of a _possibility_ that he could become _friends_ with Zoro made his mind liquefy. So, out of principle and love of his brain-cells, he refrained from ever thinking about it.

Part of him was convinced that it really shouldn't be that big of a deal.

But the other part of him, the vast majority of him, figured it a was a huge deal, it was a fucking mistake, it was stupid and embarrassing and risky as hell, and the worst part was that he didn't even know _why_ it felt like he'd lose all sense of himself and his identity if he let the antagonism slip, even a little.

It made no sense, and he wasn't going to try and figure it out. It was shitty and confusing, and he was drunk, goddammit, and his brain was all soupy and full of whirring noises, and it was making him more confused and irritated than usual.

Stupid, shitty swordsman and all his stupid shitty, confusing ways.

"Oi, cook?" that deep voice suddenly cut through his spiraling thoughts, and Sanji looked up to see the idiot glaring down at him from where the other stood. "You coming, or what?"

"Tch. Fucking asshole," he grumbled before pushing off the couch, and immediately forgetting which way was up. He felt the floor beneath him shift violently, almost like it was a horse trying to buck him off, and the cook tipped forward, arms flailing and throat seized in a silent cry as he stumbled right over the railing of the fire escape.

Or, he would have.

If a solid body hadn't moved with lightening speed directly in front of him, allowing the cook to slam into it as strong arms wrapped around his back to keep him steady. It took a few seconds of blinking and staring at the collar bone of the aforementioned-body before he realized he recognized the scent emanating from it – 'cuz he'd be one sorry-ass excuse for a cook if he had no sense memory – and it was a peculiar scent too. Soap and musk and some sort of tangy smell that conjured the image in his mind of sword blades in pre-dawn light, and around that time Sanji was stuttering and scrabbling for a hold to push away from the solid body with, since he now remembered there had only been one other person out there with him anyway, and goddammit, when was the fucker gonna let him the fuck _go_!?

Shitty marimo.

"Oi, asshole, calm the fuck down!" that voice barked, and like hell was Sanji actually gonna _look_ at the bastard. "You're shit-faced, idiot, stop moving around so much or you'll fall and break your scrawny neck."

Sanji huffed, since, okay, that was a pretty reasonable concern, given his almost-tumble from a fifth-story fire escape just a moment ago, but he did manage to look as pissed off about it as possible.

"Fuck you, shitty marimo," he slurred, his tongue lazy and practically asleep, which was sort of what he wanted to be at the moment. "I dun need yer fucking help. I got 'dis…"

Sanji shook out of the idiot's hold, held his head up high, and took a dignified step towards the apartment door.

The metal grating of the escape's platform was cold and hard against the skin of his cheek, and if he had less booze in his system, he might have had an inkling of how badly his face was gonna hurt the next morning. Apparently, he also held a clump of black material, which, upon closer inspection during those rare intervals when his eyes were actually looking at the same thing, appeared to have come off the marimo's sweater. He may have remembered flinging his arm behind him in an effort to grab hold of something, but then he was abruptly flat on his stomach, and a bit dazed.

_Oh well. Didn't fit the asshole. Too tight. He borrowed it from Ace, anyway._

"Fuck," the swordsman growled, voice closer than Sanji expected it to be. "Portgas is never gonna let me live this shit down. You are totally reimbursing him, you goddamn curlicue."

_Hmm…_Sanji thought to himself as he sniffed the ripped fabric mindlessly, _Shithead only wore it a day, and it smells like him…_

"Oi cook, you alive?"

Sanji blinked and wondered vaguely where Zoro was.

"Oi? Cook?"

_Not on the floor, or I'd see him. I think. Unless I can't see him. Maybe he's somewhere I can't see. Probably why I don't see him_.

There was an irritated grunt, and hands were suddenly grabbing at Sanji and rolling him over onto his back.

_Ah. There's the marimo_.

Zoro glared down at him, the tear in the sweater just near his shoulder obvious against the white undershirt he wore. He appeared to be kneeling beside him.

"Hey, dumbass," he said, slapping the cheek Sanji hadn't landed on in the fall. "Get the fuck up, or I'm leaving you out here."

Something either in the blow or the idiot's voice seemed to sober the cook up a little, and he blinked back to reality, fixing the moss-head with a glare of his own, and muttering to himself as he rolled over on to his knees.

_All right. You're all right Sanji. You made it this far. You can handle standing up. Come on. Don't look like an idiot in front of the __**goddamn idiot**_.

He pushed off the floor, sitting back on his knees.

He over-balanced, crashing the back of his head against the metal grating.

He despaired.

_Fucking hell! It can't be this hard to stand up! Shitty blood alcohol content! _

Sanji sat up slowly, rubbing his bruised skull and thinking it might just be safer to sleep out on the fire escape instead of trying to negotiate with his equilibrium, when he heard a sigh and some heavy footsteps, before large hands wrapped around his arms, hands that pulled and effortlessly lifted him off the ground and onto his feet. Hands that didn't let go until Sanji finally quit swaying.

And yes, he did remember whose hands those were this time, and no, he still wasn't looking at the bastard. The heat in his face could easily be passed off as drunkenness. Like hell he would admit to being embarrassed. And as long as he didn't make eye-contact with the fucker, he wouldn't have to worry about being found out.

But the asshole was looking at him. He could feel those dark eyes trying to bore their way into his brain, but he was refusing to meet the look. Just stared at the ground, letting the hands hold him up for the time being, as he found himself inexplicably tired all of a sudden.

The swordsman sighed again, sounding pretty tired himself.

"Damn useless moron," he muttered, before throwing one of Sanji's arms over his shoulders, while sliding his own around the cook's back. With that, Sanji found himself being dragged across the fire escape.

"Oi, oi, what th' fuck d'you think yer doin'!?" he cried, still managing to be indignant despite everything.

"Sanji," Zoro said, pushing open the glass panel that led inside. "Shut up."

And, for once, he did.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

His brain sort of registered noise. Music, he presumed. Laughter, possibly. He figured the party was still going on, and was grateful for that, hoping that everyone was well enough distracted. He'd hate for his lovely ladies to see him in such a disgraceful state: drunk, helpless and practically draped over the hulking, boorish swordsman as the larger man dragged his sorry-ass through the apartment. It was just too awful a shame to bear.

The big oaf hauled him around the crowd, thank God, stopping to speak to no one, simply making a straight line for Sanji's room. The swordsman maneuvered the door open without jostling the cook too much, as he was practically asleep where he hung over the idiot's shoulder, and flipped the light switch on the wall before ambling over to the bed, and dropping Sanji unceremoniously on top of it, face down. Then he grabbed the blonde's left ankle, raising his foot, and unlacing the ties on his fastidiously shined dress shoes, before pulling it off and dropping it, also unceremoniously, on the floor.

"Fuckin' one hundred percent pure Italian leather, stupid fuck…"

"You say something, Question Mark?" Zoro demanded, and Sanji knew he was glaring, but he still wasn't looking at the marimo.

Said marimo then grabbed his right ankle, repeating the offensive process with the other shoe.

And that was all the courtesy he seemed willing to force himself through, because he straightened up then, and headed for the door, throwing a, "Sleep it off, asshole," over his shoulder.

"Turn th' damn light off, then!" Sanji groused before the other man could get all the way out the door.

"No," the swordsman flatly denied. "I'm sending Chopper in here later to make sure you haven't managed any kind of brain damage. You sure as shit can't afford to get any dumber."

Sanji heard the creaking of the door hinge again as it started to close, and he suddenly called, "Shitty pansy-assed marimo."

Heavy footsteps and the door slamming closed. But the marimo was still in the room. Sanji could tell, because the idiot started shouting.

"What the hell is your problem you stupid fucking bastard!?"

_Fucker must've finally snapped…_Sanji thought to himself, now duly aware that the scrap of shirt fabric was still clenched in his hand. He sort of wanted to smell it again. See if the marimo scent had gone out of it yet.

"I know you aren't that goddamn wasted! Fucking answer me!"

"Why d'you wanna know…?"

"Because I think I've put up with plenty of your shit for one night, and I'm sick to fucking death of babying your grown ass!"

_Ha! So he was just pitying me! I fucking knew it!_

Sanji kind of felt like throwing up, but he somehow doubted it was from all the booze.

"Then why'd ya do it fer so long…?" All his words were coming out slow and thick like molasses, and the affect was worsened, since his face was being partially crushed by the mattress.

"Because you'd been through hell this week! I get it, it sucks having to bury someone important to you, that's understandable, but you acting like a mopey fucking bitch isn't really gonna make this any easier to cope with!"

Sanji's temper just about exploded and hit the boiling point in record fucking time. His head whipped up from the bed so fast he felt his neck crick, and he looked at Zoro for the first time in as long as he could remember that night, but he felt the playing fields had finally evened; felt it his right to glare at the asshole for being such an unbelievable prick.

"EASIER FOR WHO TO COPE, ZORO, ME OR YOU?!" Sanji screamed right back, the flash of adrenaline chasing away some of the effects of the alcohol. "I'm sorry if my bad mood has been fucking without your karmic energy, or whatever the fuck it is you bushido freaks have, but it isn't about you, you arrogant, self-centered _dick_! Are you not capable of looking past your own _fucking nose_ for two _goddamned seconds_ long enough to figure that someone else might be worse off than you?! _Fuck_ you!"

The swordsman's glare narrowed. "And who the fuck are you to assume you're worse off than me? You know fuck-all about me!"

"'Cuz you don't tell me shit!"

"You never fucking ask!" Zoro bellowed, and Sanji might have been slightly shaken by that response. "Why the fuck should I make the effort to spill my story to you when you show no signs of interest? How the fuck does that even make sense?!"

The cook stared up at the larger man still seething contained fury in the middle of his bedroom, and figured his jaw couldn't really come any more unhinged. Or his brain, for that matter. He didn't have a clue what to say, because it seemed like his entire existence these past three months or so had just been proven repetitive and stupid. The words, "So then just ask him shit!" reverberated in his foggy head, in a deep, smokey voice he only vaguely recalled, and the cook honestly felt like a fool. He clenched his eyes shut, wishing everything would go away until he could think clearly again.

There was another heavy exhale; the swordsman sighing, sounding more drained than pissed anymore. A muttered, "Get some sleep, idiot," and retreating footsteps were echoing through the room that was noticeably quieter than the rest of the aparment, and Sanji suddenly felt like he was in prison. A weird vice gripped his chest, filling him with an odd sense of dread, and he wasn't sure on all the finer points, only that, without any warning or explanation, he found himself wanting the marimo to stay. The whole time that he'd been angry at him and yelling at him and thinking hateful thoughts about him…it had distracted Sanji from thinking of the things he really couldn't bear to dwell on. Things he couldn't handle just yet.

And Zoro, probably without even trying, had monopolized Sanji's head with how much he pissed the cook off, to the point that he honestly couldn't think of anything else. And that's what he wanted just then: he wanted all the painful, the dark, the unpleasant to go away for a while. At least until he'd gotten some sleep. And for that, he needed Zoro to stick around.

So when Sanji heard the swordsman meandering past his bed, the cook swung his leg out faster than any drunk person should be able to, and knocked the bastard's feet right out from under him. Zoro hit the ground with a _thud_ hard enough to rattle the shelves on the wall by the door, and was practically spitting rage by that time.

"WHAT THE FUCK, COOK!?"

Sanj's eyes were closed, face pressed firmly into the blanket of his bed that smelled of smoke – both cigarette and grill – and he wondered if he'd ever be able to actually look at the idiot again without feeling that stupid, embarrassed warmth in his face. Wondered if he'd ever stop feeling so damn inferior and mortified, and wondering why, after all this time knowing the moss-head, that he was feeling like this _now_.

_I am a goddamn idiot_, he thought to himself, and decided to leave it at that.

"Where th' hell d'ya think yer goin', asshole?" he murmured into the soft material around his face.

A grunt of frustration. "I'm leaving 'cuz you're hammered, you need sleep, and I think we've pissed each other off more than enough for one goddamn night!"

"Look, just --"

But Sanji stopped. He didn't know how to get the words out, or which words he was better off using, or how to keep his face from turning red, or how to stop the tightening in his throat.

He sighed. "I just…I dun' wanna think, okay? I won't…I prolly can't sleep like this, I'll jus' think all damn night long, an'…"

Why was it so hard to make a simple request?

"What the hell are getting at, shitty dart-brow?"

Oh, that was why. Zoro's an ass.

But his voice sounded less irritated than it had a few seconda ago, maybe only mildly put off, so Sanji forced down a swallow and tried to make more sense.

"I want…can you jus' talk? For a while? 'Til I fall asleep? I dun' wanna think, an' if you talk, I dun have to…"

There was a slight pause, more than Sanji expected, at least. He expected the swordsman to fly off the floor, yelling and berating him for asking such a stupid fucking thing, and how pathetic could one person get, anyway?

But no. There was silence on the marimo's end, and Sanji got the crazy idea that he was actually contemplating it. Then he heard shuffling, as the swordsman slowly got to his feet.

_Here's where he stomps out, never to speak to me ever again_.

And really, Sanji didn't think he should feel so dejected by that. Must be the booze.

"What do you want me to talk about?"

"Anything," Sanji murmured. "Where you grew up, where you went to school, what you did as a kid. Jus'…jus' whatever…"

Some more silence followed. The cook honestly didn't know what Zoro had to deliberate about, but he wasn't gonna snap at the moron; he _did_ want him to stay, after all, and biting marimo's head off probably wouldn't go far in getting him what he wanted.

Suddenly fingers were prodding lightly at his side and a deep voice muttered close to his ear, "Oi, move over, asshole. If I'm gonna do this, I'm at least gonna be comfortable."

Sanji grunted in response, hiding the slight tugging up of his lips in the crook of his arm as he shifted closer to the wall, allowing Zoro to sit down, propped up against the head of the bed, one leg stretched out beside Sanji while the other, presumably, was planted on the floor.

"So," he started, sounding a bit hesitant, and it made Sanji grin further, "Um…where should I start?"

"Childhood," the cook prompted. "Who yer parents were, where you guys lived. That stuff."

"'Kay…uh, then I guess the first thing to mention is that I don't have parents."

Sanji opened his eyes, realizing his bed _really_ wasn't meant for two people, as the swordsman's elbow was nearly touching the crown of Sanji's head, and all he could really see was the place where black sweater met worn denim jeans.

And somehow, he hadn't been expecting marimo to say something like that.

"Are they dead?" the cook asked, deciding a second later that it was probably rude of him.

"Dunno," Zoro said, seeming fairly unconcerned. "Never had any. The earliest I can remember, I was on my own."

"Where'd you live?"

"Some places," was the marimo's cryptic response. "Nothing really worth talking about. Mostly not anywhere that actually had a roof. Like you said: childcare services are the shits."

The blonde nodded, his scalp rubbing against the idiot's arm, and he was a bit surprised when he felt not shirt material, but actual skin.

_Must've rolled his sleeves up…_

"But that changed when I was around nine or ten," Zoro went on, pulling the cook away from musings on the configuration of the larger man's clothing. "I was wandering around and I came across this yard where all these kids were wearing uniforms and training with wooden swords. I watched for a while, 'cuz it looked pretty interesting. I'd always sort of prided myself on being tougher than the other street urchins like me, so I figured I could probably kick all the kids' asses, and maybe make them give me some food. Sort of my usual practice in life up to that point --"

"Was this all in New York?" Sanji interrupted.

"Yeah. I've lived here most of my life. Anyway, I fought all the kids out in the yard and, predictably, beat the piss out of them. And that's about the time I met this girl. Her name was Kuina, and apparently was the daughter of the guy who ran the sword school I'd stumbled across. They were second and third generation immigrants from Japan, and I guess her grandfather had opened the dojo when he came to America. Well, this girl came out of the dojo just then and challenged me to a duel. I'd never fucking held a sword before, so I went with two, 'cuz I figured two was better than one, which was all she was using. I figured it wouldn't be too hard to win: I had more weapons, and besides, she was a girl."

Zoro paused a minute to exhale, and Sanji got the idea he was grinning. "Bitch totally ruined me."

The cook bolted upright, staring wide-eyed at the swordsman and crying, 'Are you shittin' me?!" He then promptly got dizzy and fell over again, this time his head brushing the mairmo's leg.

"Idiot, don't move around so much!" Zoro growled, large hand coming down heavily on top of his head, presumably to keep him still. "If you make yourself sick and throw up on me, I am wringing your skinny fucking neck, got it?"

Sanji made some pissy sound of affirmation.

"Anyway! No, I am not shitting you, she kicked my sorry ass. Hit me so hard in the face with her bokken, I had a welt the size of a baseball on my forehead. So I lost, and everyone laughed, since I went down in about .4 seconds, and then her dad came out. He seemed pretty amused by it. The sensei offered me a deal then: he'd seen I was pretty tough, and could probably be taught how to fight well with a sword, so he said if I agreed to help around the dojo, keep it clean and fix shit if it broke, I could stay there and eat and take lessons for free. So I took him up on it."

_So that's why the idiot knew how to fix the showerhead in the bathroom_, Sanji thought to himself.

"I took lessons there for a while, got pretty good at _nittoryuu_, or two-sword style of sword-fighting. Sensei eventually added another condition to our deal, and said I also had to have a tutor, 'cuz apparently the guy was planning on me enrolling in high school when I was old enough. I wasn't wild about the idea, since I figured that'd make it easy for child services to find me, but I liked eating regularly and sleeping in the supply closet, and I loved training, so I agreed. And the tutoring shit wasn't hard. All that elementary stuff was easy, and I was up to my equivalent grade level in no time.

"And all the while, I was challenging that girl Kuina, trying almost every day to beat her. And every day, I ended up flat on my back with a wooden sword at my throat, and something that'd be bruised bad the next morning."

Sanji snickered a bit at that. "Idiot! Couldn't even beat a little girl?"

Zoro paused, and the cook was reminded that the other's hand was still on his head when rough fingers tugged sharply at his hair.

"OW, fucker, what was that for?!"

"The fact that she was a girl made no goddamn difference, shit-cook. She was better than me. That's all." The tone of his voice had done a complete one-eighty, no longer easy and soothing but hard and edged and no-nonsense.

"Sorry," Sanji mumbled, figuring that was probably a pretty shitty thing to say, and it was horribly rude of him to belittle a lady, anyway.

"S'fine," was the grumbled reply. "So, that was my life for a while. Kinda boring. Nothing really happened, until I'd finally challenged Kuina for the two-thousandth time, and lost for the two-thousandth time. I don't know why it had bothered me so much then, but I guess after losing so damn much, despite how fucking hard I trained, I finally snapped. The sensei had been giving me an allowance for a while, and I'd saved up and bought myself two very real, very sharp katana. And I knew for a fact Kuina had one too. So I challenged her to a duel with real swords. It was my two-thousandth and first challenge."

The marimo paused for a moment, chuckling lightly.

"It was my two-thousandth and first loss, too."

Sanji blinked. "Did you get hurt?"

"No, we knew better than to fuck each other up when we were only kids. That kind of changes when you get older, and you meet people who are more willing to hack off your limbs if it'll mean a victory for them, but when it was just her and me, barely teenagers, it wasn't that serious. It was all about disarming the opponent, as opposed to a KO."

Sanji nodded, this time noting the dull scratch of denim against his head, and reminding himself of where he was positioned in relation to the marimo's anatomy. He sort of felt his face go red. But he didn't move. If Zoro realized how close Sanji was to…certain, more personal areas, he'd probably freak and leave, and more than anything Sanji needed this distraction. So he blushed, and held still, and tried to ignore it.

"Well she beat me. And I cried like the little bitch I was, 'cuz it didn't seem fair, after all my hard work, and all the obsessive training, that I _still_ couldn't beat this chick. And then the damn bitch has the gall to cry herself. She said things like _she_ should be the one upset, since her dad told her women can't be famous swordsman. It was a title only a man could hold, and that as she grew older, she'd get weaker. She told me that, pretty soon, I _would_ be able to beat her, because I would grow into a man. And I pretty much thought that was bullshit, and I told her to quit fucking crying 'cuz she was making me look like a damn idiot. I told her what I thought of her father's shitty philosophy, and told her that one day I would beat her, but only because I'd gotten stronger, not because she had gotten weaker. So, like kids tend to do, I guess, we both vowed to become the greatest swordsman in the world. We were gonna fight each other for the title."

Zoro halted again, and Sanji had the strange feeling that this girl, this part of the story, was a huge catalyst for everything Zoro ever did for the rest of his life. And he was a little afraid of finding out how she affected him that much. Had they dated? Been each other's first? First _everything_? Had marimo dreamed of _marrying_ her?

"She died the next day."

The cook froze, slowly cocking his head back to look up at the swordsman's stoney face. He wasn't looking back.

"How'd she die?" Sanji whispered.

The swordsman grinned again, but rueful, and looking a little disgusted.

"She fell down the goddamn stairs."

Sanji blinked. A girl who could kick Zoro's ass every single time they ever fought, and a tumble down some _steps_ was what did her in? What the fuck!?

"My thoughts exactly," Zoro muttered, and if he had been less drunk, the blonde might have been a little creeped out at how the swordsman seemed to read his mind.

"Her funeral was in early spring. It was raining like a motherfucker that day. I moved out of the dojo once all the well-wishers had left."

"Why'd you move out?"

Zoro sighed. "Sensei was…sort of fucked up after Kuina died. Not too bad, he was just detached. He couldn't handle having to look out for me anymore after burying his own daughter. You could say he kicked me out. Anyway, he gave me Kuina's sword. Asked me to please carry out her dream, since he knew I could do it, or something like that. So I took her sword and my two and left; used the last of my rat-holed cash to buy a sword case for them so I could carry them around concealed, since they pretty much went with me everywhere I went."

Zoro paused a moment, just taking a second or two to think, before he began again.

"And I was so fucking pissed at Kuina. We made that promise together. We _vowed_ we would fight hard, give our all, and meet each other at the top. And then…nothing. She was gone, and it was just me. With three swords I wasn't totally certain how to use, and a promise that'll probably follow me to the grave to be the best swordsman in the world. She should still be here; I'm convinced of that. She worked harder than me at being the best; I'm convinced of that too. Otherwise, I would have beaten her. So for a while I felt fairly shitty, catching myself thinking that, logically, it would have been better if I'd fallen down the stairs, and not her. But I got over all that eventually. Figured if she ever caught me thinking like that she would have beaten my ass black and blue. So I moved on, and decided that everything I did would be towards that end: of achieving our dream."

Sanji felt like the evening could have probably ended there. He was feeling drowsy enough that he may very well be able to knock off if he tried, and Zoro sounded tired, and the cook was starting to feel that hint of danger and risk again in the air, as though something bad might happen if he kept listening to the marimo talk. As though something the idiot may say could derail Sanji's life, somehow.

But he couldn't deny the sudden spark of curiosity, the want to know more about the marimo's life, because he had a feeling that the story didn't quite end there, that Sanji had more questions he'd like answered, and this seemed like the best opportunity to find some shit out.

That was probably why he found himself poking the swordsman's thigh and murmuring, "What happened then?"

Zoro sighed briefly. "Well, not a whole hell of a lot, honestly. I ended up living pretty much how I had before moving into the dojo: in alleys around the Queens area. I figured I'd keep my promise to sensei and go to high school anyway, even if there was really no reason to. I put his name down as guardian, but had all my info, like grades and shit sent to some abandoned house out in the boonies. I haven't actually spoken to him since Kuina's funeral, but he never made any objection when I put his name down on the forms for school. I'd get to school early, stealing showers in the gym locker rooms, and pilfering food from the cafeteria when the lunch ladies weren't looking. Sort of boring. I worked some random jobs to pay for books and shit. And that was sort of it."

"Weren't you in a kendo club in high school? I didn't even know high schools _had_ kendo clubs."

"Yeah, I kind of started that, I guess," the swordsman said, scrubbing at his hair with the hand not resting on Sanji's head. "There was some pansy-assed martial arts thing that barely even had three members, and they rarely showed up for practices, so I joined, took over, and turned it into a kendo club with a hell lot stricter rules. A lot more people joined afterwards, though, now I think of it…"

"And that's when you met Johnny and Yosaku?"

Zoro snorted slightly, and the cook could hear that grin again. "Yeah. I actually got to know them my senior year. It kind of worked out to my benefit, though. I got two unbelievable friends, and a place to live when we all graduated. Don't really know what the fuck they got out of being my friends. Crash courses in how to administer first aid, or something equally as fucked up."

Sanji frowned, thinking there was probably something he should say to that, 'cuz honestly he didn't think that was really a fair assessment, but his head was too groggy to form words that could get his point across, was in fact too drunk to really know what his point would be in the event he made one, and so just stuck to simple questions.

"And you met that police guy…when?"

"At high school. He was a beat cop at the time, assigned to patrol the school. Make sure fights didn't break out, and stuff like that. I met him when I got in bad with some wannabe gang. By the time Smoker got to the scene, I'd already fucked everyone up. He kinda appointed himself my personal nagger when I was about sixteen. He found out, not sure how, that I'd been living on the street for pretty much my whole life, and he kind of…I dunno, I wouldn't say he felt bad for me, but he kinda had some respect for me, 'cuz he figured I was a tough kid, or something. He never actually intervened in my life; never actively tried to make it any easier, but he…I dunno. I guess he cared. That was all he really needed to do. Just showed that, in his own dickish sort of way gave a damn about what happened to me, and I was fine enough with that. He used to get a real kick out of throttling my ass while he was at it, too."

Sanji snickered lightly at that. "Sounds like my old man."

Zoro laughed too. "Yeah. I guess in a weird way, Smoker sort of saw himself as a weird, antangonistic father-figure-type for me. I didn't mind. Well, I did back then. Now, though, it doesn't really bother me."

There was a brief pause then, and Sanji knew that part of the story was over, because Zoro only told a story in short bursts. It was a little irritating having to ask him questions all the time to get the full tale, since that could only give Zoro the wrong idea that he was _interested_, even though he sort of was.

"So…what kind of jobs did you have?"

The swordsman shifted just slightly, nudging Sanji's head with his leg as the other's fingers mindlessly drifted down to rest at the base of his neck.

"I've done lots of different shit. Worked for a shipping yard all through high school, and did some apprenticeship work on construction sites. I got my journey-man's book, eventually, which made it easier to find work just about anywhere I went. One of the few perks of working in a Union. I moved out of Johnny and Yosaku's place when I was about twenty; did a stint in the Army for a few years. Let them pay for a little college education, though I never finished. Plus I left the Army the moment I caught wind of Mihawks whereabouts, when I was probably twenty-two. And for the past year, going on two now, I've been moving all over the East Coast, trying to pin the guy down for a duel. And I seem to finally have him here in New York. Which is kinda ironic, I guess."

Another pause. Sanji blinked. "And…is that it?"

"Is that what?"

"Is that your life?"

"Pretty much. Not a whole lot beyond that."

The cook fell silent again, frowning and mulling things over. He was shocked, honestly, to learn of the very few people the swordsman had known. It didn't amount to many, and Sanji found that almost hard to conceive of. All his life, he'd been surrounded by people. And sure they pissed him off more often than not, but they loved him anyway, just like he loved them, and at least he'd never been alone. But Zoro…

…Zoro had _always_ been alone. From his earliest memories on, he'd relied only on himself, with a few brief periods of companionship that only lasted a year or so, compared to the long stretches of time the marimo had spent wandering around in solitude. And he seemed okay with it; used to it, in a way that was both admirable and tragic, and most likely went a long way for explaining how out of place he'd seemed with the new group of friends he'd so recently become a part of. He didn't know how to cope with large numbers of people in his life all at once. And maybe it wasn't that big of a deal for Zoro to share this information. Maybe he really was just unconcerned and indifferent. But it didn't matter.

Somehow, for some reason, it meant something to Sanji that Zoro had told him all of that. He could feel the gratitude, even through the layers of hazy booze in the cook's system.

And it was the booze's fault, really. It was the booze's fault that Sanji slowly pushed himself up to eye-level with the marimo just then. It was the booze's fault that Zoro just happened to look back at him, seeming tired and reassuring and strong, with the barest hint of a grin lifting the corner of his lips. And it was the booze's fault that Sanji lost his balance, elbows giving out suddenly as he plummeted forward, face crashing into the swordsman's in what was more of a head-butt than anything.

But if he was really honest with himself, he'd say it was no one and nothing's fault but his own when his lips, firmly squahed against the corner of the larger man's mouth, pushed out just faintly, lingering in a way that would be almost impossible to explain later, as words softly tumbled out onto the other's skin.

"Thank you, Zoro."

And then there was nothing but darkness and warmth, and strong hands cradling his head.

And that was the booze's fault, too.

* * *

Well, you got a bit of a reprieve on this one. Chappie Thirteen is only 31 pages long! Ten less than last time. Seriously, everything after Ch. 11 just balloons out into ridiculousness. It's unbelievable. And yes, Zeff is dead. But just because he died, that doesn't mean he won't show up again! ;D Don't worry, it's not a Zombie!Zeff motif. But it works. And his death was tragic, yes, but it was also TOTALLY NECESSARY TO THE PLOT. NO JOKE. THIS STORY WOULDN'T WORK IF HE WAS ALIVE. I APOLOGIZE IF THIS HURTS YOUR HEART EVEN HALF AS MUCH AS IT DOES MINE, BUT I PROMISE TO MAKE IT ALL BETTER WITH COMEDY AND PORN_. _I'm good on my word, promise!


	14. A Dawning Dread

* * *

There's a bit of a reprieve now. This chappie's only eleven pages, but it makes me smile. Thank you so much for the lovely comments you all have been sending me, and I really appreciate the praise and commentary more than you know! Makes me happy. I hope you like this chapter. It's quite a bit angsty, and it'll be that way for a little while, but don't worry. I'll take the icky angst away once it's done serving its purpose. Thanks for sticking with me!

* * *

No one had left from the night before. People were sprawled out across the room, passed-out drunk and snoring like foghorns. Luffy's snuffles were nearly drowned out by his face being crushed into the carpet in the living room, and Franky, who snored loud enough to get a rating on the richter scale. Chopper was curled up in a ball on the floor near Luffy, with Usopp hugging him sort of like a teddy-bear, brushing his long nose into the boy's soft mop of hair every now and then. Brooke was propped up against the glass of one of the picture windows, still sitting on the bench of his piano, which was still on, and adding an electric hum to the overall racket in the living room. None of the girls were present, presumably holed up in either Luffy or Chopper's bedrooms, away from the boys and their retarded sleeping habits. Ace and Smoker were more than likely in whichever room the girl's weren't, and woe betide whoever had to wash _those _sheets. The only one not accounted for was Zoro.

Because he was still asleep in Sanji's bed.

Sanji knew this, because the first thing he'd seen when _he_ had woken up was the marimo's unconscious and surprisingly serene face as he continued to sleep on, unaware of his current surroundings and that Sanji was really, _really_ too close to the other man for anyone to be entirely comfortable. Well, for _Sanji_ to have been comfortable, really, 'cuz the goddamn moss-head had been too busy _not being awake_ to notice anything.

Sanji rubbed his eyes, feeling the ugly grip of hangover seize his brain as he listened to the dripping of his shitty-old coffe maker. He stood barefoot in the relative clarity of his kitchen, grateful, at least, that it seemed to have survived the chaotic wake. Not much could be said for the rest of the damn apartment, though.

Fucking crazy-ass friends.

He didn't have time to fix all this shit. The reading of the old man's will was this afternoon, and Sanji couldn't afford to be wrecked and wrinkled when he strolled in there to find out his entire life was being derailed. And Sanji felt like that was a sensation all too familiar to him at the moment: the feeling of a train slipping off the tracks, careening towards fire and brokenness and certain destruction, except that the train was really just a bad metaphor for Sanji's shitty life, and why was it so impossible for him to simply be in control of things, for once? There had always been someone running his life for as far back as he could remember, whether because he was too young to have anywhere else to go, or because he felt gnawing guilt whenever he remembered someone else's sacrifice. He always seemed to owe someone something. He could never just have his own way, do things the way he wanted them done, because there was always someone other than him to answer to.

And part of him knew he was never going to have that dream restaurant that he pined for so badly. He would have never brought himself to leave the old man if he'd still been alive, and now that he was dead, his will would probably seal Sanji's fate until he joined the geezer in hell. It had been a stupid, childish thing to ever think he'd have his way, but even so…even now…he still felt the pull to break free. Despite how impossible it was. His guilt and feelings of indebtedness to Zeff and the Baratie kept him bound to it all like an unbreakable chain. He dreamed of a place of his own, but – when it came right down to it – he knew he didn't deserve it. After all the pain and loss he'd caused that man, how could Sanji ever think he had any right abandoning him? Abandoning the restaurant that had been the old man's dream? And so it was a trade: Sanji's dream for Zeff's. Because the old man deserved something for all his sacrifice, and that longing for freedom was all Sanji really had to give. And so it was given, freely and without complaint, even as he felt the fire in him die a little whenever the blonde thought of what could have been.

His own restaurant: dead before it ever came to life. That was the price of a life saved. And Sanji paid it, through the heartbreak and the tears and the silent screams that still wailed in his head, that riled for an independence that Sanji wasn't worthy enough to possess. And maybe that had been the source of all his antagonism and competing with the old man; some desperate, half-baked idea that if, one day, Sanji could surpass the head chef, then maybe the old man would give him the green light. The realization that he had nothing left to teach Sanji, and the go-ahead for him to take off and find his own place in the world.

Sanji never did surpass Zeff, though. So what right did he have for ever leaving? Sure, Zeff had yelled at him, belittled him, and told him to get the fuck out of his restaurant; he wasn't wanted or needed, and he should just quit. But Sanji didn't see that as a blessing to leave, so much as it was just Zeff, demonstrating how much he couldn't stand Sanji. And that made it an even bitterer pill to swallow: knowing that not only could he never leave, but that, through it all, his sacrifice wasn't even wanted, much less appreciated. But it was still something he had to do; Sanji's guilt would have it no other way. And his dream restaurant would simply have to stay that: a dream.

_I think you'd run a pretty good restaurant_…

Sanji frowned at the coffee pot, dripping away with inexcusable slowness.

Where the hell had that come from? He didn't remember anyone saying that, even though the echo of it in his head was definitely another person's voice, one Sanji's ragged brain couldn't quite register, even though the sound of that elusive voice seemed to summon up the foggy images of wine and shouting and scraps of torn fabric clutched in his hand —

-- The fucking marimo.

That's right. Sanji'd been drunk last night. Really durnk, since he ended up in _bed_ with the bastard, woke up with his head _in the man's lap_, literally, it had been the odd scratch of metal against his face that pulled him out of unconsciousness enough to realize he'd been nosing at the _zipper of the fucker's pants_, and Sanji groaned just then, knocking his head into the wall near the fridge, and hoping for some sort of brain trauma, because, honestly, this was the last thing Sanji needed right now.

He sort of wanted to murder the bastard. Sneak into the room and kill him while he slept, strangle him, kick his skull 'til it turned to mush. Because he was pretty sure he wasn't going to survive the massive surge of embarrassment that was no doubt to follow the awakening of the shitty swordsman. That green-haired prick would probably come waltzing out of the room, making lewd jokes and insinuating bad, awful things, like how goddamn pathetic Sanji was, and how a little booze turned him into this tragic slut, and the worse part, the absolute _pinnacle of fucked up and horrifying_, was that Sanji couldn't truly refute any of it.

He knew two things for certain, as he stood there in his kitchen waiting for the fucking coffee, hung-over and vaguely suicidal: he knew from several previous accounts that he had tendencies to become very flirtacious and clingy when drunk, which often tended to lead to bad situations and mortifying apologies due to the affected party the next day, all of which Sanji was very intent on never reliving.

The other thing he knew for a certainty: he didn't remember anything that had happened last night. He'd been too far gone, and while he wasn't therefore really responsible for his actions, marimo-asshole would no doubt make it all his fault. And that was another odd thing: never once, during his drunk and horny escapades that crashed and burned more often than not, had he ever advanced on a man. None of that drunken, closet-homosexual stuff; he had always, _always_ traipsed after a woman when he got too inebriated to figure out when "No" really meant, "Get the hell away from me, you slobbering jackass." But consensual or not, Sanji always managed to pass out cold before anything too damning ever happened, hence his need for soul-crushing apologies the following day. So it made no sense whatsoever that, even _if_ he'd gotten wasted and a little hot under the collar, that he should wake up with _anyone_ in his bed at all, much less the goddamn marimo swordsman.

And yet, there he'd been; curled up to the larger man's frame like some over-grown house cat, burrowing his face into the warm lap where he'd taken shelter, and, despite the throbbing pain in his temples and what felt like an entire sheep's worth of wool in his mouth, feeling fairly relaxed and pleased.

He felt like that, right up to the point where the cold scratch of the zipper finally registered through his sleepy-cloudy haze. And then everything from there on out had been nothing but cold sweats, and heart-stopping panic, and screams reverberating around his skull, and hyperventilating and near-tears, and an unbearably awkward climb over the marimo's sprawled body to get off the bed and out of the room, from which he pretty much sprinted to the sanctity of his kitchen, where Sanji was still standing, hiding, waiting for that _goddamn_ coffee, and dreading the moment Zoro would wake up and systematically ruin what little of his life and pride that could still be salvaged.

_Well, at least we had our clothes on, _Sanji thought as he stared at his stirring spoon and contemplated gutting himself. That was really the only consolation he had that things hadn't gotten too out of hand, but there was always the chance that the idiot marimo had redressed them after the fact, and Sanji was going to stop thinking about this, because he could feel his brains leaking out his ears and he sort of felt like crying, which really wasn't going to fix anything.

He wanted this to go away.

He wanted to fall back asleep and wake up to find out this had all been a weird, fucked up dream brought on by booze and random neuron-firings.

He wanted to pack up and move to Canada in the next ten minutes, before marimo woke up, before _anyone_ woke up, so even if the bastard told everyone what they'd been up to the night before, Sanji would never have to face them ever again.

He wanted escape. He wanted divine intervention.

He wanted his fucking coffee already, goddammit.

That, and the aspirin he took about an hour ago was starting to wear off, too. Just his shitting luck. He lit a cigarette and damned the marimo to an early grave. It seemed only fair, at this point. Bastard had made a travesty of things.

"Fucking marimo. Hope he gets alcohol poisoning. Hope he swallows his tongue and fucking chokes. Hope he gets an aneurism. Fucking asshole. Fucking ruining everything."

"Good morning to you too, shit-cook," a groggy voice murmured from behind him, and Sanji leapt about three feet out of his skin.

"ZORO!!!" he shouted, whirling around and throwing his hands up in some bizarre karate pose, and Zoro just looked at him like he was a crazed, rabies-infected animal.

"Um?" the swordsman lulled, and it was obviously too early for the idiot to be functioning.

Sanji relaxed out of his defensive position by degrees, but he never actually let his guard down, shock and fright now giving way to a lingering dread of what the idiot was going to say to ruin his life, and when the hammer would fall….

…It seemed to be taking a while. Zoro just side-stepped the silently panicking cook and reached for the coffee pot, pouring out a cup of _Sanji's fucking coffee_, and moseying out into the living room, kicking Luffy the rest of the way off the couch to make room for himself.

"Oi, what's for breakfast?" he called over his shoulder once he'd found a comfortable spot. Luffy slowly wrapped his arms around Zoro's legs like an octopus and kept sleeping.

Sanji narrowed his eyes. It couldn't be code for something, the asshole always asked what was for breakfast. And lunch. And dinner. There was no subtext, no way he could really be implying anything other than the desire to know what there was to eat, but Sanji was just paranoid enough to feel insulted anyway.

"It's one in the fucking afternoon, asshole. Breakfast is long gone."

Zoro heaved a long-suffering sigh. "So then what's for lunch?"

"It's _one in the fucking afternoon_. Lunch is at twelve sharp, and no later. Idiot."

So Sanji was being difficult, so the fuck what? If Zoro was gonna play mind games, then he was gonna be as big of a dick about things as humanly possible. It was only fair, after all.

There was a low growl from the couch. "I'm gonna pass this off as hang-over and just ignore it. So you're saying there's no food?"

All right, _now_ he was treading on some dangerous ground. Hang-over implied that Sanji'd been drunk last night, and since last night was when…_things_…may or may not have happened, he was obviously working up to ridiculing Sanji's patheticness. Definitely.

"Whether there's any food is no _fucking concern of yours_, you goddamn waste of space!"

Zoro turned around slowly, face oddly neutral as his dark eyes studied the cook intently, a stream of differing expressions flicking across his face in minute twitches. He blinked, and seemed to come to some sort of conclusion, looking strangely resigned about it. He sighed, and got up from the couch again, taking care to pull his legs from Luffy's grasp as subtley as possible.

"Whatever," he muttered. "Go back to sleep and don't wake up 'til you're tolerable again, Sanji."

"Don't you FUCKING TELL ME WHAT TO DO!" Sanji shouted, watching with unreserved rage as the marimo wandered over to the bedroom he usually shared with Chopper.

Zoro halted, coffee cup in one hand while the other wrapped around the doorknob. "Cook, I dunno what the hell your problem is, but you need to get over it."

Sanji pretty much busted a blood vessel at that. "GET OVER IT!? HOW THE HELL DO YOU EXPECT ME TO JUST GET THE FUCK OVER --"

His words died in his throat when Zoro finally looked at him again, expression stern, eyes honest, no trace of humor anywhere in his disposition, and the tear in the shoulder of his black sweater stood out sharply against the white of his undershirt, mocking Sanji, reminding him of how he'd woken up with the torn piece of fabric still clutched tightly in his fingers, the bruise on his face throbbing dully.

He wasn't afraid. He wasn't _scared_ of this. He wasn't a coward; he didn't fear the truth.

He didn't. He just wished it wasn't true.

"Look," Zoro started, and Sanji felt his heart stop and then speed up, "I know you've got a lot of shit going on, and waking up like that probably didn't help--"

Sanji was gonna die. He was gonna fucking drop dead, he could feel it. His heart would simply burst open with embarrassment and shame, and he'd have only the shitty marimo to pick up the pieces, and like _hell_ did he trust the asshole with the shattered remains of his pride and dignity. It was like trusting Ace with anything potentially flammable.

Whatever it was, it'd end up shriveled and destroyed.

Like Sanji.

"— but you really need to not be such an uncompromising asshole about it. It was late, we'd been drinking, we were both tired, and I just knocked out. I didn't sleep there on purpose, I was just fucking exhausted. I don't intend to do it again, so hurry up and move on with your fucking life, idiot. It can't possibly be the worst way you've ever woken up."

With that he opened the door, marched into the room, and closed the door behind him.

Easy as that. Nothing superfluous, nothing flowery or descriptive or in any way extraneous. Everything that needed to be said in the fewest amount of words required to get the point across. That was marimo's style. Sanji was starting to get more used to it the longer he spent time around the man. And he found, in an odd way, that he appreciated the gesture. He liked that there was no beating around the bush with the otherwise conversationally-challenged moron. Nothing to interpret, nothing to dwell on extensively. Moss-head told you everything you needed to know in the only way he knew how: straight-forward and to the point. Often-times painfully direct.

But at least now Sanji knew, without a doubt in his mind, that Zoro wasn't hiding anything from him. He knew there wasn't anything about the previous night that was any more shameful or embarrassing than falling asleep with the idiot. That was the worst of it. And it wasn't all that bad, really. It wasn't like the marimo'd had morning wood, or something equally as scarring. They had both been completely clothed, in relatively innocusous positions – they certainly hadn't been _spooning_, thank God! – and nothing, absolutely, positively, without a goddamn doubt, _nothing_ had happened between them.

Sanji took a deep breath of smoke and let it out, feeling the fraying of his mind slow considerably, and thankful that, if nothing else, his brain was sort of saved for the time being. He still had the shitty reading of the Geezer's will later that afternoon, but now he didn't have to dread coming home afterwards. Things weren't fucked up beyond imagining, and he could still show his face among his friends. Score one for the love-cook.

And as Sanji stubbed out his cigarette and began putzing around the kitchen, the full and steaming coffee pot forgotten for the moment, he had to admit that, in all honesty, it hadn't been the worst way to wake up. It'd been awhile since he'd rolled over or opened his eyes to find another warm body near him. It had also been a while since he'd been quite that shit-faced, but nevermind. If only it had been the lovely Nami or Vivi all curled up in his bed – because Kaya and Robin were spoken for, and Sanji may be a ladies man, but he wasn't a _cad_ – then the morning would have been utter bliss! The perfect way to begin the day, or midday, rather, but nonetheless it would have been grand.

He supposed, though, that waking up to a fully clothed, green-haired swordsman wasn't really the be-all end-all of fail. He could have done worse, in his own humble opinion. He could have fallen asleep with Franky. And that would have been terrible.

But it was while he was pulling out the eggs to make omelettes that Sanji admitted, in some small part of his brain that didn't handle a whole lot of his more important mental funtions – and it was clear why, in that very instant – that there may have been one other, very _slightly_ embarrassing thing from that morning, one a bit worse than the realization that he had inadvertently slept with a man, because it actually found its origins in Sanji's own psyche, which is what made it so damning, even though he really wanted to deny it, because it was so out of character for him, and utterly unwarranted, and unbelievably random that it was hard to wrap his head around the fact that the thought had actually occurred to him, but there was no point in arguing with himself:

_Zoro looks good when he sleeps._

Those were the exact words that had flitted across his muzzy, alcohol clouded mind when the cook had realized that his pillow wasn't quite as soft as usual and sat up, eyes very slowly scanning over the unexpected bed partner he found himself with, until his gaze finally fell on the slumbering face of the swordsman. He'd looked calm; more peaceful than he tended to be when awake, and Sanji had never thought in a million years he'd ever see a look that…he didn't want to think it, but the word was there, arresting his brain before he could even discard it: marimo looked almost…_gentle_…when he was sleeping. And one day, Sanji may very well rib the man mercilessly over what a pansy he must really be, but for the moment, the cook was just trying to recall the instance without all the heat burning his cheeks, and it seemed completely ridiculous that he was fighting _this_ _hard_ not to blush. He'd blushed at the time, too, and he'd be long dead and buried before he _ever_ said anything about it to the moron.

_Whatever, Sanji_, he thought to himself, pulling out one of his non-stick frying pans and setting it on the stove before flicking the dial to 'medium.' _It's all the stupid marimo's fault. No sense in dwelling on it. Just make your damn omelettes so all the idiots and the wonderful goddesses have something to eat before you leave…_

He dutifully cooked away, adding peppers and bits of ham and cheese, folding the batter together with a perfect crease, and refusing to admit that the warmth in his face that _would not fucking go away_ was anything other than heat from the stove.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It wasn't long before the delicious smells twirling out from the kitchen eventually caught the attention of the apartment's other occupants. The boys in the living room were the first to start stirring, low muttering and yawns now interspersed with those still snoring away. The door to Luffy's room opened not too long after and revealed that the ladies were the first ones actually up and decent-looking. They came strolling out of their haven looking none the worse for wear, given the level of destruction and desolation everything else seemed to have suffered. Sanji trilled and pirouetted around them, presenting them with cups of coffee and pieces of toast with butter and jam spread perfectly even across the top while the omelettes kept cooking. They thanked him and took up the seats at the buffet table/kitchen counter, watching the cook work and talking easily together.

It wasn't until a few moments later that it finally dawned on Sanji that if the girls were in Luffy's room, that meant Ace and Smoker were in Chopper and Zoro's, and that just so happened to be the room Zoro had wandered into when he stormed out on the cook, and Sanji honestly wondered if the brain-dead moron had even been aware of that fact when the swordsman had slammed the door shut, but before he had a chance to think too much on it, there was an unholy uproar coming from the very room in question, and what sounded like a screaming argument that was just able to be made out from the other side of the wood.

"I SWEAR TO GOD, ACE, IF YOU DON'T BACK THE FUCK OFF --"

"YOU RIPPED MY SHIRT! YOU TOTALLY NEED TO REPAY ME!"

"I TOLD YOU, IT WASN'T MY FUCKING FAULT! AND HOW THE HELL DOES DOING _THAT_ PAY YOU BACK!?"

There was a lot of crashing and stumbling around, and some grunts of frustration as bodies knocked things over, with the litany of curses serving as a constant soundtrack to the heated fight no doubt going on. The girls at the kitchen table had stopped chatting, now turned around in their chairs to stare at the door. The boys had wandered over from the living room, drawn away from the delicious scents by the intense racket coming from the room across the apartment. Sanji, for his part, stood slightly frozen at the stove, omelette balanced on the end of his spatular, waiting to be flipped back into the pan.

"OH COME ON! TAKE YOUR SHIRT OFF, ALREADY!"

"FUCK YOU! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM ME, GODDAMMIT!"

A sudden crash, and the sound of something breaking, and Chopper whimpered slightly, unsure of whether it had been anything of his. Several more loud bangs against the door, shuddering the wood in its frame, and suddenly it swung open, depositing the two fighting men onto the floor in the hall. Zoro rolled onto his back, snarling and shoving at Ace's shoulders, who was wrapped tightly around his waist.

"But baby, we'd be so hot together!"

"I don't care!" the green-haired man shouted. "Let go!"

The larger man arched his hips up, balancing on his shoulder blades while his hands reached back, trying to undo Ace's iron-grip on him. That mischievous, freckled face just leered further.

"Now ain't that a pretty sight!"

"Go to hell!"

"But Zoroooo!" Ace whined in a disturbingly Luffy-esque manner. "It'll be fun! We could totally make it a menge a t-- "

"—Finish that statement, Portgas, and you'll find yourself missing some very important anatomy."

A new voice entered the argument just then, and suddenly the shirtless, imposing figure of Officer Smoker appeared in the darkened doorway of the bedroom, looking tired and excessively annoyed. He marched straight over to the struggling men, and wrapped a strong arm around Ace's middle, hauling the slighter man over his shoulder like he was a feather pillow.

"Aw, but Smokey!" Ace whined again, and both the police officer and Zoro flinched slightly, "It'd be hot, and you know it! He owes me for the shirt -- "

" -- How the _hell_ does that pay you back, dumbass -- "

" – And besides, he needs to get laid, anyway. Like, badly!"

Smoker looked close to murder, and Zoro seemed to be comtemplating suicide. No one else in the room was about to tackle this issue; they simply let it play out on its own, figuring that getting caught in the cross-fires would be a decidedly dangerous thing to do.

Smoker ground his teeth slightly, before saying in a low, tight voice, "We're getting dressed. We're leaving. And you're _never going to say anything like that_. _**Ever**_. Understand?"

"But babyyyyyyyyy!!!!!" Ace continued to pout, even as his lover ignored him and began carrying him back into the bedroom. "I can't help it! He looks so gorgeous when he sleeps!"

And then the door to the room slammed shut.

And everyone sort of stood there, frozen, silent, no one entirely sure what to say anymore.

Until, like the insightful musings of a learned philosopher, the silence was broken by, "Wow, Zoro, gay guys really like playing with you, huh?"

The silence shattered into complete pandemonium. The girls nearly fell off their chairs laughing, Franky had grabbed his guitar while Brooke fired up the piano, churning out a quick round of, "Endless Love," (with Franky singing the girl's part), Usopp was rolling around on the floor spitting and choking, and looking torn between amusement and horror, while Chopper ran in circles looking for his doctor bag, because he was certain he had "something to help when doing _that_." Zoro was still on the floor, hands wrapped around Luffy's scrawny neck, throttling him while he shouted obscenities, a vein throbbing dangerously near his temple.

For his part, Sanji remained silent. He flipped the omelette back into the pan, served up the four meant for the ladies, stacked the remainder on a hot plate for the assholes to fix themselves, and quickly wiped down his kitchen before wandering off to his room. Once he had grabbed a change of clothes, he slipped into the bathroom undetected to shower, dressed, got back out, and after grabbing his keys, stole out of the apartment without drawing a single, curious gaze.

Which was all right. He didn't feel like talking to anyone. He was tired and sore and worried and confused all at once, and he didn't see how so many different emotions could seize his brain so suddenly. He'd been sort of okay while cooking breakfast; maybe a little irritated, but when had he ever _not_ been annoyed with the goddamn marimo? But it was a step up from mind-numbingly depressed, which was exactly what he'd been before the infuriating asshole had shown up to completely derail his previous thought process, saddling him instead with maddening thoughts he really couldn't stomp out. And Sanji was tired of thinking about the swordsman. He was tired of not being able to control his own wandering mind; to not be able to focus on things considerably less frustrating or awkward or utterly nonsensical.

Like the current, inexplicable prick of anger he was feeling at the moment. Sanji didn't get it, didn't understand why he felt it smoldering just slightly beneath the surface, but it was there, and he could barely even begin to fathom what had caused it. He'd been pissed at Zoro when he thought the bastard was going to try and ruin his reputation, but that had passed already. Once that crises had been averted, he had relatively calmed down…but now he was pissed. And the only thing that had happened in between was Ace's crazy outburst…

…and it hit him. The last thing Ace had said before Smoker had hauled him back into the bedroom. It was stupid and childish and it made no damn sense, but it was the answer nonetheless, whether Sanji knew why or not.

_He looks so gorgeous when he sleeps_…

Sanji was pissed that Ace had seen Zoro's sleeping face. Felt betrayed, or cheated somehow, because he imagined not many people had seen it – except Chopper of course, since he shared a room with the marimo, but for some reason Sanji wasn't mad at _him_ – and he'd thought, for a moment or two, that he'd managed to get past the stoic man's wall. Thought he'd made some sort of connection – however sappy and retarded that may have sounded – regardless of whether the other man had been aware of it. For a few seconds, Sanji had seen Zoro vulnerable, and that would probably never happen again. And then Ace, of _all people_, got to see the exact same thing Sanji had seen, and it for damn sure didn't mean the same to that freckled pyromaniac as it did to the cook. Even if he didn't know what, exactly, it did mean.

And the fact that it meant anything at all to Sanji sort of pissed him off, too. It shouldn't. It really shouldn't be that big of a deal to him, and yet here he was, grumbling under his breath as he stumbled down the cluttered stairs on his way out of the apartment, mulling all this over, and feeling ridiculously pathetic and embarrassed, even as he burrowed his chin into the collar of his blazer to hide the feeling of heat in his cheeks from even himself.

But he tried to shake it off, get his mind to something approaching focused. He'd need his wits about him for where he was headed right now. God only knew what the old man had in store for him, and Sanji imagined that, somehow, it'd be even more traumatizing than anything he'd suffered already that morning.

Even moreso than blushing over goddamn Roronoa Zoro.

* * *

Silly Sanji. He's crazy, and he doesn't even know it....


	15. The Only One to Ever Know

ACK!!!! It's been forever, neh? My life is all a jumbled mess, and apparently my obsession with my new fandom (House, M.D., yes, I'm one of _those people_) is no passing fancy. I have even written one fic for it, and I have another in the potential works, and even a horrendous crossover that is sure to scar and damage millions, if I can even endure the inannity of it long enough to finish the damn thing. In the meantime, here's this. I'll post the House fic as well, in case any of my OP followers share other interests with me. *shrugs* It'll be good times, either way.

* * *

The room was dark by ten o'clock that night. No one up. No one would be up. Chopper had class. Zoro always slept. Luffy got bored. Everyone else had gone home.

Sanji sat on the couch in the living room with the TV on mute, watching static flicker on endlessly, the light from a passing car throwing brief, sharp shadows across the walls. The swordsman's bottle of sake was nestled between his thighs, nearly half gone, and getting lower. Whatever. He'd buy the asshole another one later. Maybe.

But he sat there, blinking slowly, hazy through the booze and the darkness clutching at his mind. Too shocked and too bewildered and too lost to really think. His stomach had been clamped in a vice since he'd left the lawyer's office, and by now he'd almost gotten used to it. Almost couldn't feel the chill tenseness just below his breast bone, full of dread and disappointment. And yet oddly hollow. As though there was a hunk of lead, a heavy box, almost, with nothing in it. Kind of like all his internal organs had been pulled out and replaced with cold rocks, a North wind blowing through the empty spaces.

All he could do was sit there. Drinking. Not feeling the burn of the alcohol any more than he felt the steady tears on his face. Not feeling the fleece blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Not feeling the worn rug beneath his bare feet.

All he could do was sit there. In the dark. Staring at the transcripts in front of him; all manner of life and emotion and heartache reduced to the stark white-and-black of printed paper. Just staring. And drinking. And crying.

Wondering what, exactly, he'd done to deserve this, and getting no answers from the deep shadows around him. In a way, he didn't want any. He didn't want to know. He just wanted to stop thinking about it at all.

So he sat there. And drank. And cried. In the shadows, all night, until the dark bled into lighter grey before his eyes, and the flicker of the TV became less and less obvious, and the questions streaming through his mind blurred into nothing more than a dull droning.

He just sat there.

He had no answers.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Zoro rolled out of his cot as slowly as he possibly could, trying to prevent the metal frame from creaking so loudly that it'd wake Chopper. Picking up his sword case from the far corner near the window, he padded across the room and carefully opened the door, slipping out into the silent, outer room. What with all the craziness of the last few days, the swordsman hadn't had much of a chance to go through his _kata_, and so was fairly determined to kick his own ass back into gear. He had to be in top form for when he would face Hawk, and he was purposefully holding off on setting up the match until he was certain he was at his best. And he _would _be at his best. He would win. He was sure of this.

Holding the handle of the door so it wouldn't click when meeting the frame, he turned and made for the large, empty space between the buffet table and the far wall. Zoro gently set his sword case on the floor, out of the way, and undid the lock and clasp holding it closed. Staring at the swords within, he did a quick run-through of the last time he'd practiced his _kata_, deciding which sword had seemed weakest at the time. The answer was, as it tended to be, _Sandai Kitetsu_. Not that he wasn't strong, he was just…difficult. That was one way of saying it. The red-sheathed blade was really, when all formalities and titles of distinction had been stripped away, nothing more than a dirty son-of-a-bitch. Blood-thirsty and unruly, that sword always posed the greatest nuisance out of the lot of them. Zoro, for all the intense attention he paid to the swords, meditating on them and coercing them, eventually training them to his will, had a sense that whenever the perfect opportunity arose, _Kitetsu _would have no qualms turning on his wielder. He was biding his time, nothing more. He and Zoro had a pact; a temporary agreement that was reliant solely on the capricious nature of the cursed sword. But Zoro didn't worry. The fight he always put up just strengthened Zoro's swordsmanship, and besides, whatever _Kitetsu_ tried to pull, Zoro was three steps ahead of him. His will and his luck would hold out over the deceptive blade. Even if _Kitetsu_ wasn't totally willing to believe that.

The other two, however, were nothing if obedient. _Yubashiri_, for one, was always mellow; never overachieving, but never one to slack off, either. She did exactly what Zoro asked, nothing more, nothing less. Reliable, durable, if somewhat less than stellar, but not every sword could be in the spotlight; otherwise the three of them could never work in tandem (a fact Zoro often found himself arguing with _Kitetsu_ over). But _Yubashiri_ was never a problem. Zoro was honestly very grateful for her no-nonsense approach to things and all the dedication she put into her training. She took it very seriously, and he could tell. She was a sword he could always depend on.

And then, there was _Wadou_.

_Wadou Ichimōnji_.

Brilliant and strong and beautiful and deadly. Truly, the only woman for him. She was Kuina's sword; oftentimes it still felt like she truly didn't belong to Zoro, as though Kuina was still her true master, and she probably was. Probably always would be. But Zoro didn't mind; he hadn't accepted her under the pretense of forcing her to be his. He _wanted_ her to still be Kuina's. Because in that way, in a bizarre way, Kuina was still there. She was there for as long as he had _Wadou_. But _Wadou_ also recognized Zoro as her master. As though she somehow managed to serve both him and Kuina equally, without betraying either of their trust. She truly was an amazing sword. She was powerful, and devoted to a fault. She listened to Zoro, but also questioned him, from time to time, in the way a patient older sister might; asking him if he thought that particular move, that slice through the air, that specific parry was the best way to go. She made him stop and evaluate his _kata_, helped him to improve his technique like only a magnificent sword of her caliber could. She was like a part of Zoro; another limb he couldn't live without. Like a true heart that, without, would render his own heart incapable of beating. _Wadou_ was his strength. His reminder.

His promise personified.

Shaking his head slightly, pulling it from his random burst of introspection, Zoro undid the clasp holding _Sandai Kitetsu_ in place, gingerly lifting the weighty sword out of the case, and he could already feel the steel vibrating, singing for blood, and Zoro merely growled at him, reminding him the this was just _practice_, and he needed to simmer the fuck down. Zoro was in no real mood to put up with _Kitetsu_'s bullshit this morning.

He stood, keeping the sword sheathed for the moment, and turned around to begin loosening up his muscles –

-- A strange, lumpy figure on the couch in the living room, caught his eye suddenly. Zoro blinked, arms still poised and at the ready, as he stared at the odd bundle, wondering what the hell it was. A quick glance at the clock in the kitchen told him it was about four in the morning.

_Sanji_.

He was the only one who ever got up this early, other than Zoro. And he was honestly a bit worried about seeing the cook. After their bizarre fight yesterday, he hadn't really encountered the skinny prick. Around three in the afternoon the swordsman had finally realized Sanji wasn't in the apartment, but when he'd asked Nami about it, she scowled at him and none-too-gently reminded him that Sanji's father was dead, and the reading of his will was that afternoon. And yes, he'd felt a bit shitty for forgetting that, but after all the shit he'd had to put up with over that drunken, moody fucker, especially after getting smacked in the face with the realization that all the mess he'd had to deal with the night before was null-and-void, since the goddamn inebriate didn't remember shit anyway, Zoro figured he was entitled to a little leeway on the matter. Really, what had been the point of trying to make him feel better, of having him talk his issues over, of the larger man sharing his own life story so the asshole could be distracted enough to fall asleep…what was the point of any of it, if Sanji was just gonna forget about it the next day? Kinda made Zoro feel a bit redundant, and not a little stupid. Felt sort of like he'd been played for a fool, even though he knew Sanji hadn't gotten wasted for the explicit purpose of making Zoro look like an idiot.

Whatever. He was inclined to blame the bastard anyway.

But even though he figured he was plenty justified in being pissed at the cook, he was still reluctant to approach him. Zoro certainly remembered their numerous conversations from the night of the funeral, and he remembered Sanji being all tied in a knot over what the old man's will would have in store for him; knew the blonde was sweating bullets over it, desperate and sort of resignedly melancholy, and Zoro was hesitant to go anywhere near Sanji, fearing the moment he was in the asshole's sights, said asshole would pounce, and regale the swordsman with all his wants and woes, and Zoro really couldn't handle that. He'd had plenty of the bastard's whining to last him a lifetime. Several lifetimes, in fact. And he would not put up with it again.

…_I want_ _to open up my own place. Have it really, really be my own, not jus' somethin' I inherited from someone else_…

Zoro sighed. No, he hadn't forgotten that either. Curlicue hadn't out-right said it, but it was obvious that running his own restaurant was his dream. A dream he couldn't have if the old man's will put him in a position of ownership over the Baratie. And Zoro understood the difference between "owning" someone else's place, and having your own. If Zeff gives his restaurant to Sanji, it doesn't make it _Sanji's restaurant_. It makes it Zeff's restaurant under care of Sanji. And Zoro knew, the cook had told him, that if the old man wills him the Baratie, he will take it, and work there until he dies. He feels he owes the veteran chef that; seems to think that signing over his dream to the man is the only way to even begin to pay him back for all that he'd done for Sanji. So by default of loyalty and misguided guilt, Sanji will abandon his dream, based on what Zeff asked of him at the end of his life.

And that was some of the most pathetic shit that Zoro had heard in his entire life.

And it was only, _only_ because a dream was at stake, and everyone, even _the shit-cook_ deserved to have a fucking dream, that was the only reason Zoro was now turning back to his sword case, lying a snarling, irritated _Sandai Kitetsu_ back in his padded bed and clasping him in tight, it was the only reason he was softly padding across the floor, wood panels cool against his bare feet, the only reason he was rounding the couch to peer down at the tragic little heap in the middle of it.

It was a pretty bad scene.

If Zoro thought Sanji had looked bad when he'd found him hiding out on the fire escape the night of the funeral, that look of dejection had nothing on the abject devastation and despair and sense of utter brow-beaten defeat that oozed from every alcohol-soaked pore in the cook's body. Because he was drunk, Zoro could tell. Could smell it like a smog hanging in the air around the living room, booze and regret, and obviously things hadn't gone too well yesterday. There were two empty bottles of wine on the table, and, crushingly enough, the last, final dregs of the swordsman's sake still sitting at the bottom of the bottle currently held in Sanji's lax grip.

_He's the one who bought it, Zoro, just stay calm_, he tried to reason, and despite it all, still managed to be fairly miffed about that. He took a deep breath, knelt on the floor in front of the couch, and grabbed Sanji's shoulder.

"Oi, cook? Did drink yourself to death?"

There was no response.

"Cook?" Zoro gave the narrow shoulder a slight jerk. "Oi. Say something, asshole."

His head lolled around to the left.

Zoro's stomach clenched slightly.

All right. This was getting kind of bad.

"Sanji, get the fuck up. You'll be late for work." The swordsman shook harder at him, hands now gripping both shoulders, trying to get a response. "Sanji!"

"Mmmmrphglnnnn."

Well, it was noise. He wasn't dead, anyway. The tenseness in Zoro's gut relaxed a bit.

"Sanji? Come on, open your eyes. Look at me."

The blonde head tilted up a fraction, one blue eye squinting against the onslaught of pre-dawn light, face an eerie pale from the booze and the lack of sleep and the static from the TV playing across the skin. Zoro quickly reached for the remote and switched the annoyance off before turning back to the drooping man.

"Sanji, come on. Look at me, moron."

"Who'd wanna…?" the blonde grumbled low and gravelly.

Zoro found himself sighing slightly in relief. Cook was so goddamn irritating sometimes.

"What the hell are you doing, dumbass? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

Sanji didn't answer.

Zoro felt the very tectonic plate of the universe shifting under him. This was significantly worse than he'd figured.

"Sanji, focus!" he demanded, giving him another shove. "Look at me, what the hell happened yesterday? You left after cooking some food, and no one's seen you since."

"…th' papers…" the blonde muttered, mouth hanging open slightly.

"What papers?" Zoro asked, frowning.

The blonde didn't really point, so much as he just teetered forward in his seat, and Zoro had to tighten his hold on the skinny shoulders to keep him upright. But Sanji's glazed, blue eye seemed to be staring meaningfully at something over the swordsman's shoulder, so the larger man turned, eyes flitting over the small living room, until they landed on a stack of papers sitting on the coffee table directly behind him. Throwing a quick glance at the sloshed cook to make sure he wasn't about to fall over and crack his skull open, Zoro slid one hand to the other's slender chest and kept him pinned to the couch cushion as he reached over and picked up the papers Sanji wanted.

They were legal documents. The company figure-head at the top of the first page was a dead give-away, even if he hadn't been expecting it. He thumbed through some of it, skipping over a lot of the lawyer-speak that was mostly just gussied-up bullshit, and tried to find the real gist of what had fucked Sanji up this badly. It wasn't until about the third or fourth page that he started seeing anything to do with the old man and his affects. There wasn't much there, either; most of Zeff's belongings seemed to be donated either as memorabilia to the Baratie or to some sort of Goodwill contribution. The only thing really concrete Zoro could find was almost halfway down the page, that stated:

_All deeds and rites of ownership of the establishment "Baratie" and surrounding property therein shall be passed to the current sous chef, Pattie Alfons. _

Zoro blinked. It hadn't been Sanji. It hadn't been passed to the Assistant Head Chef, it had bypassed him entirely. Zoro didn't even know what a _sous chef_ was, or who the hell Pattie Alfons was, but it wasn't Sanji, and that was just sort of mind-boggling. That Zeff would honestly trust anyone other than the shitty cook with his precious restaurant just seemed bizarre, and a bit off. Sure, he knew Sanji would be chained to the Baratie if it were otherwise, but…_still_.

"But isn't that good?" he found himself asking. "You didn't want him to give you the deeds to the restaurant, right? So you could open your own?"

Sanji made a quiet noise, almost like groan or a whimper, his pale face twisted in a grimace.

"I…I didn' want th' resterrant…" he slurred, so wasted Zoro was honestly a bit concerned. "Bu'…fuckin' Pattie? Pattie dun' know shit!" Sanji paused, swallowing, looking like he wanted to puke, but managed to contain himself.

"Ol' man…nevurr did trust me…nevurr wan'ed me there…jus' thought I was a…a useless brat…."

Zoro frowned. "Sanji, what are you talking about?"

And then the cook lunged forward suddenly, slamming into Zoro's chest, propping his head on the larger man's shoulder as his shaky hands grabbed the papers from him, rifling through them slapdash and muttering low to himself. Finally, he seemed to discover the particular piece of paper he wanted, pulled the sheet out of the pile and shoved it back at Zoro. The swordsman straightened the crumpled page out, confused and more than a little annoyed, and was just about to start reading it, when he finally registered the disconcerting feeling of the blonde's head sliding further and further down his arm, towards the edge of the couch, and without even thinking, Zoro brought his arm up to wrap around narrow shoulders, tucking the blonde in close to his chest while he looked over the piece of paper in his hand.

It was a curious bit of the document, where the lawyer made a disclaimer that the following statements were made by the owner of the will, in the exact phrasing he had used. Zoro didn't really know why such a note would be necessary, until he read what was actually printed on the page:

_And as for that shitty eggplant, curly-eyebrowed, brain-dead little brat, tell him he ain't gettin' a goddamn thing of mine. Not one thing! I didn't raise no goddamn free-loader! He can rely on his own damn self from now on. _

Zoro stared at the page. Reread the statement a few times. Blinked twice.

Jesus. Old man Zeff wasn't fucking around, it seemed. He really had given Sanji absolutely nothing. And other than that one blurb, the blonde was never mentioned again in the will; not even anything about that other Baratie opening up in Phoenix next year. Nothing. But that just didn't make any damn sense! Zoro hadn't known the guy long, hell, he hadn't even _seen_ him for more than a few hours at most, but Zeff had just seemed like the sort of guy to resort to tough love. Really tough love. Love made out of blazing-hot steel and pointy-spikes: something painful and off-putting, but warm nonetheless, in it's own, twisted sort of way.

Like Smoker was for Zoro. That's what he thought Zeff and Sanji were like. And it would seem that he had been wrong, and Sanji obviously was convinced that he was, but Zoro still wasn't sure about that. Even seeing something that cold in black-and-white, from the mouth of the elder chef himself, didn't seem legitimate to the swordsman, some how. It was just off. But he didn't know how he could change Sanji's mind; shit-cook had known the old man much longer than Zoro, had more frame of reference for the chef's behaviors, and he already had a very firm opinion of his foster father that seemed pretty unshakeable. But Zoro had the outside perspective. He saw what Sanji couldn't, what he was too close to the situation to see.

And yet, despite all that, the thing that remained firmly fixed in the green-haired man's mind, the one notion he couldn't seem to shrug off, was why he felt the need to do any of this. Sanji was a grown man. He could take care of himself, he was more than capable of kicking the average man's ass, though Zoro was loathe to admit it, and as such, really shouldn't need this sort of babying. And here Zoro was, holding up the blonde-haired inebriate, trying to formulate a plan to fix the idiot's shattering life. What the fuck was he thinking? Why was he wasting his time?

_You live here now, so you're nakama!_

_Have you met Zoro? He's our new nakama!_

_Sanji's a good nakama, neh Zoro?_

…_you need to learn to be a better nakama…_

That word. That _fucking word_. That shitty little phrase Luffy was _always_ spouting, _every day_, no matter what was going on. That ridiculous little moron and his absurd mantra that had drilled its way into every head of every person in their group of friends, sinking into their psyche and causing them to do involuntary, stupid things, like trail after blonde, chain-smoking perverts, trying to repair their own failings. And the worst part – the _fucking epitome of all things infuriating and awful_ – was that, despite all of Zoro's defiance, all his raging and refusal to have anything to do with this insanity, now found himself sinking into the same incorrigible tar pit that all the rest had been sucked into.

The inky-black death of nakama.

_Fuck. My life,_ Zoro despaired. And he figured he ought to be more disgusted by all this, but right now he was just tired and hungry, and sort of wanted some toast. But first: all this business with the will.

Zoro frowned, reading over Zeff's alleged dismissal of Sanji and sighing in irritation.

"Cook, I don't get this," he muttered. "It doesn't make any sense to me. Old man loved you, it was damn obvious, and I don't know what the hell he's trying to pull with this…"

The swordsman shuffled through the other pages, scanning them for anything, any little sentence at all that might reveal some ulterior motive; some reasoning why Zeff would go so far out of his way to inform Sanji that he'd get nothing from him, instead of simply leaving him out of the will. Wouldn't that have been easier? What was the crazy chef trying to do with this?

It was only a few minutes later when Zoro realized he hadn't heard a sound from Sanji in a long time. A really long time. Which didn't bode well.

"Oi, Sanji?" he asked, jostling the worryingly limp head resting on his shoulder. "Sanji, wake up."

Nothing.

Fuck.

Tossing the papers on the coffee table, Zoro pulled the cook away to look at him, taking in his slack features that looked to have gotten even paler and sicklier than when he first found him. He was utterly still; not even his eyelids twitched.

Zoro shook him harder.

"Sanji, this isn't funny! Open your fucking eyes!"

The cook's head merely lolled back, hair fanning out and displaying the usually hidden-left eye, but it was closed in any event, and the swordsman's surprise was fleeting at best. Making sure the idiot didn't die was a bit more urgent.

"Shit!" Zoro growled, releasing the unmoving body onto the cushions, and bolting from the couch, tearing across the expanse of the apartment and wrenching open his bedroom door.

"Chopper!" he cried, slightly louder than a whisper. "Chopper get up, I need your help!" He lunged to the boy's bedside, grabbing his skinny arms and jerking him a bit more than he intended. "Chopper!"

The kid sat up so fast he probably would have toppled from the bed if Zoro wasn't holding on to him. "What! What! What's going on?! Is everything all right!" he rambled, shaken and not fully conscious yet.

"It's Sanji, Chopper. The idiot drank himself into a stupor, and I don't know if I should call a hospital or not."

He spoke low and as calmly as he could, given the circumstances, not wanting to alarm the young boy, but his efforts were apparently for naught. Chopper's eyes went wide and his face paled, a split second before he tore off his bed and began running circles around the room, occasionally tripping over a textbook, screaming incoherently and clutching at his hair. Zoro simply watched him, a bit too stunned to have much of a reaction.

_Why the fuck do I live with all these damn psychopaths?_

The young boy's hollers interrupted the beginnings of his despair.

"WE NEED A DOCTOR!!!!!"

Zoro shook his head, getting back into the moment.

"Chopper, you're the only one here with any sort of medical training. You have to take a look at him."

That statement threw a wrench in the kid's panic, his bare feet skidding to a halt on the wood floor, brown eyes widened further in complete shock.

"Oh no. Zoro, no, I can't, I don't even know anything, what if something happens, I wouldn't be able to do anything, I _can't_ do anything, 'cuz I'm no good, honest, he needs a real doctor, I wouldn't even know where to start, and --"

"Chopper!" Zoro cut him off, large hands resting on narrow shoulders and giving the barest of shakes. "Chopper, we don't have time for that right now. Sanji is in bad condition, and you're the only one who can help him, so put your freak-out on hold until we know he's okay."

The small boy bit his lip nervously, looking pale and worried and close to hysterics. Zoro willed some of the tenseness out of his demeanor, despite his own concern over the matter, trying to calm Chopper's nerves. He gave the kid a tiny smile.

"Look, I doubt the cook will die, all right? He's too stubborn. I just need to know if he should go to a hospital. Just take a look at him." Chopper's mouth opened, as though he were about to protest, but Zoro barreled on over him. "You can do it, Chopper, I know you can. You're better than you think you are."

And that seemed to do the trick, because instead of hitting Zoro and yelling about how he didn't like compliments, asshole, the boy heaved a sigh, his face still pale but steeled now, in a look of determination Zoro hadn't ever seen before. The kid nodded curtly, looking worried, still, but resigned in a way that almost seemed like grim confidence.

"Okay. Show me where he is."

His tone was utterly serious, brooking no argument of any kind, and it sort of threw the swordsman for a moment. He shook his head, trying to orient this new, authoritative Chopper into his brain, but he must have taken a second too long for the boy's liking.

"Zoro! If he's in bad condition, I need to see him right now!"

"Right, sorry!" the larger man said, snapping back into focus. He moved to the door and led Chopper out into the living room, where he'd left the unconscious Sanji on the couch.

The young Med student didn't waste any time, kneeling in front of the couch, maneuvering Sanji to lay flat on his back. He examined his face carefully, pulling his eyelids open, dropping his jaw and inspecting his tongue. Then he placed his hand just above the cook's mouth and nose, and simply stared at his watch for a few minutes. Then he removed his hand, checking the cook's pulse, and finally spoke.

"Has he vomited?"

Zoro was taken by surprise again, feeling like he'd been jarred out of a trance, watching the boy work with such precision. He knew Chopper was good, he jus didn't know he was _this_ good.

"Uh, not that I know of," he replied, edging a bit closer to better see what the kid was doing,

Chopper seemed to anticipate his curiosity, because he started an oddly calming litany of exactly what he was doing and why.

"I'm checking his heart rate and breathing. If his breathing is slower than eight breaths per minute, than there's a good chance he has alcohol poisoning. He would also most likely be vomiting quite a lot. His body temperature would be abnormally low, too, and his skin would be very pale, with a slight blue tinge. Did you talk to him at all, or did you find him unconscious?"

"He was sort of awake when I found him. I talked to him a bit."

"Did he seem confused, or incoherent?"

"No. He was really slurred, and it seemed kind of difficult for him to talk, but he knew what he was saying, and he was making sense."

"Did he get the shakes, or experience any sort of seizures while you were with him?"

"No."

Chopper unbuttoned the blonde's wrinkled dress shirt, and felt the skin of his forehead, face and neck. Then he sat back on his heels and sighed.

"What is it?" Zoro asked.

Chopper still wore a concerned frown, but the diagnosis didn't seem to worry him too much.

"Well, his breathing is slow, but not abnormally. He's pale, but not blue, and his body temperature is fairly normal. You said he hasn't vomited or had any seizures, and he was coherent when he spoke. I still don't like that he's unconscious, but he doesn't seem to have alcohol poisoning. At least for now."

"'For now'?"

"Well, he may be asleep, but the alcohol is still being released into his system. There's a possibility he could continue to get so drunk he becomes dangerously ill. We might want to call an ambulance."

Zoro's brow knit together at that, feeling a bit off about the idea of the shit-cook being hauled away on a gurney. Nah, that image didn't really seem to fit. He knew the bastard would hate being made to look weak and helpless, and he knew the guy could handle himself. So he decided he'd give the cook the opportunity to prove it. 'Cuz Zoro was just a good guy like that.

He'd get the fucker up.

The swordsman moved even closer, bending down low over the cook's sprawled form, trying not to flinch at the painfully thick haze of alcohol that idiot was still emitting, and lowered his mouth near Sanji's left ear.

"Oi, pansy-assed cook. You look like a fucking pussy all passed out like that. You really don't know how to hold your liquor, do you? Some man you are, eh? And Nami and Vivi came over for breakfast, and they were so disappointed that nothing was made, and they blamed you, and vowed that they'd never have that hot threesome they'd been contemplating. So you fucked that one up too, congrats. And guess what? I'm gonna call an ambulance and have your pathetic ass dragged out of here, with everyone around to see what a damn fairy you are. Sweet dreams, dumbass."

"Zoro!" Chopper cried, scandalized and sounding more like his usual self. "What are you doing!? Sanji's very sick, and he needs to be taken care of!"

_Ah, Chopper_, he thought fondly. _Playing along, and he doesn't even realize it_.

"It's no harm Chopper, the idiot's totally unconscious anyway. He can't hear anything."

"Who'sssfucking unconshussss?" was the mumbled reply from the pale, immobile body beneath the swordsman, the ire in the voice still audible under all the booze, and Zoro would have cackled in triumph if he wasn't on a mission already.

"You were, you stupid fuck. Totally useless, aren't you? Damn, I have not seen a more pathetic sight in my life."

"Zoro!" Chopper scolded.

"Ffffuck yuu, asshole," and now the curlicue eyebrow was twitching in irritation, although neither of his eyes had opened yet.

"Now, now, you shouldn't start making threats, Sanji. You're very sick, y'know. Don't want to over-exert yourself."

"Ffuck! You!" the cook said louder, voice now sort of a pissed groan, his whole face twisted in anger.

Zoro grinned. He was probably having too much fun with this. He turned to Chopper, who was confused and upset, and obviously hadn't caught on to what Zoro was doing. But he was undeniably honest, and that played brilliantly into Zoro's little scheme.

"Oi Chopper, he needs his rest, right? Should I carry him back to his bed like the little princess he is?"

"—Go t' hell -- "

" – Well, he does need rest," Chopper said, contemplatively, still a bit unsure of Zoro's attitude, and otherwise ignoring Sanji. "And it's probably best if he doesn't try to walk right now…"

"M' _fine_, goddammit!"

"You heard the doctor's orders, Princess!" Zoro sneered, trying hard not to laugh at the murderous noises coming from the blonde. "You need your beauty sleep, after all."

"_I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU_!"

_Ah yes. Asshole's sounding more sober by the second._

"Now, don't be so nervous. I'm sure it's intimidating for a virgin to be carried to bed by a virile young man but be rest assured: I shall not rape you."

Sanji's eyes flew open at that, blue and burning and more focused than they'd looked all morning. If looks could kill, Zoro would have probably died five times over. As it was, he simply leered at the incensed man beneath him, making his previously-pale skin flush with rage, and he was pretty sure the cook was now in danger of a stroke.

Just then, something that felt oddly like a bony knee suddenly swung through the air and slammed into Zoro's back, nearly toppling him face-first into the floor. He caught himself, whirling around to throw a murderous glare at Sanji.

"Plenny more where tha' came from, asshole!" the inebriate snarled, leg still poised in the air to doll out some punishment, and damned if the fucker didn't sound a bit smug after that.

Zoro's black eyes narrowed, low growl rumbling in the back of his throat.

"All right, Goldilocks. We'll do it your way."

And with that, he made a lunge for the idiot still lying on the couch, ready to knock some fucking sense into this impossible prick's stupid fucking head --

"Zoro!" Chopper shouted, and there was that sudden authority in his voice again, jarring Zoro into a complete stand-still. "Sanji is sick, Zoro!" the boy continued sternly. "You can't be rough with him like usual. If you two can't behave, I'm going to ask you to stay away from him until he's better!"

Zoro huffed like an irritated brat, feeling guilty despite himself for making things harder for Chopper, even though he hadn't meant to. It was just that Sanji pissed him off. A lot. But he nodded his understanding to the Med student, gruffly apologetic in the only way the swordsman could be. He didn't really feel sorry for being an ass to Sanji, he just hadn't meant to make Chopper's job more difficult. Zoro could give a damn what the shit-cook felt like.

"Sorry, kid," he muttered. "D'you still want me to take him to his room?"

Chopper eyed him suspiciously. "Are you going to behave yourself?"

"Yes," he said, rolling his eyes.

The boy studied him a second, still looking a bit uncertain, but totally willing to believe him. "Well…all right then. Just be careful with him."

Sanji had been oddly quiet throughout this exchange, and Zoro would have been mildly concerned, if a quick glance at the idiot hadn't shown he was still glaring at the swordsman, and was obviously too pissed to speak anymore. And even though he had apologized to Chopper, and meant it, he couldn't help but smirk a bit at how much of a rise he'd gotten out of the dumbass. It was just so much fun to watch him squirm.

"All right, moron," he said, grabbing his shoulders with one arm and his knees with the other, "You heard the doctor. We gotta behave."

'Behave' apparently wasn't a word Sanji possessed in his personal dictionary. The moment Zoro came into contact with the volatile blonde, said blonde's body sprung like a tightened coil, arms and legs shooting out in all directions, pummeling into the swordsman and trying to shove him away.

"Gerroff me, fucker!" he hissed like a wet cat, blows still painful, even though they were more sluggish than usual.

"Sanji, just let Zoro carry you!" Chopper pleaded over the larger man's shoulder as he struggled to hold the flailing cook still.

"OVER MY DEAD FUCKING BODY!"

"You're about to get your wish in a second, you goddamn Question Mark, if you don't calm the fuck down!" Zoro snarled, finally managing to get his arms around the slender body and holding the shithead fast to his chest, officially locking him in place. This seemed to surprise the hell out of Sanji, whether because he'd actually been detained, or because he was now much closer to Zoro than was really comfortable for either of them. The angry flush of the cook's face seemed to burn redder just then, and he proceeded to flail even harder than before.

"Oi, Chopper, you don't have any sedatives or some shit, do you?"

"No! They don't let _students_ have that sort of equipment!"

"Tch. Fine."

Zoro rocked back onto his heels, dragging Sanji off the couch and into his lap, fighting to keep the cook slightly contained, grunting for the effort and seriously debating just knocking the bastard out. The blonde gave another almighty jerk, the crown of his head slamming into Zoro jaw, and busting his lip clean open. Warm blood welled up instantly, dribbling over the curve of his lip, swarming his mouth and fueling his desire the beat the hell out of the ungrateful fuck currently twisting around in his arms.

"Zoro!" Chopper cried, worried now for the swordsman's sake, and Zoro didn't want to disobey the kid's orders, but hell if he was gonna put with this shit anymore.

With a roar of frustration and a great heave, he threw the thrashing body roughly over his shoulder, holding those deadly legs tight against him to prevent them from lashing out and doing any serious damage. Fucker was so set on acting like a spoiled brat, then fine!

Zoro would treat him like a spoiled brat.

And the cook could pound away at his back all he wanted, and yeah his bony knuckles were a bit painful, but his arms didn't have a quarter of the strength as his lower half, and even drunk, the idiot would never do anything to harm his beloved hands. Zoro didn't give a shit.

He was on a mission, goddamn it. He was trying to save the cook from the humiliation of being carried off to the emergency room like some stupid fucking college undergrad who knows fuck all about drinking, and he figured the asshole should be fairly appreciative. He wasn't, and Zoro wasn't all that surprised, but he was pissed in any event.

The annoying feeling of blood trailing down his chin didn't really help the matter.

And Sanji was still jerking, body seizing and un-seizing, though his arms had stopped punching, hands in fact now gripping tightly at the swordsman's shirt, and it was a weird change, all of a sudden, but he'd already started walking towards the idiot's bedroom, and he wasn't about to stop now.

"Zoro, you gotta let him down!" Chopper cried suddenly, panicked and serious.

He turned to the young boy, giving him a confused look. "What are you --"

"He's gonna throw up, let him down!"

And Zoro felt the tell-tale shudder of the slender man heaving awkwardly against his shoulder, strong fingers digging relentlessly into the skin of his back, and he didn't waste another second. Before he could even blink, he was in the bathroom, kicking up the toilet seat, and letting the cook down onto his knees in a much more gentle manner than he'd previously been using to deal with Sanji, leaning him over the porcelain edge, and pulling the sweaty, blonde bangs out of the way as the pale body shivered and jerked one last time, releasing the poison violently from his system. He was at least a bit tougher than Chopper had been when drunk; he didn't throw up quite as much, even though he undeniably had drank considerably more than the small boy. And even though Sanji wasn't hardy by any stretch of the imagination, he still processed more alcohol a lot easier than the kid had, and so didn't require quite as much assistance in the purging act. In fact, he seemed well enough to continue antagonizing Zoro.

"Fuckin' don't --" Pause to puke some more " – don't treat me like some fuckin' girl!"

Zoro growled, winding his fingers in the long strands of hair and tugging hard at them, making the smaller man choke slightly. "Well if you didn't wear your hair like a fucking girl's we wouldn't be having this problem, now would we?"

"Stupid…stupid fucker!" Sanji panted, a vague shiver in his strained muscles, body sinking towards the floor, not quite as boneless as Chopper had been, but still pretty weak. He didn't struggle when Zoro's arms wrapped around him a bit tighter, trying to keep him upright.

"Hey, Zoro," a small voice said from behind him, and then a glass of water appeared beside Zoro's head.

He sighed, throwing a tired smile over his shoulder at the delivery boy.

"You learn fast, don't you Chopper?"

The kid just shrugged. "You did it for me, and it helped. I figured Sanji could use the same treatment."

"Thank you."

He then took the water, managing with some difficulty to coerce the cook into drinking it, and feeling the waves of nostalgia washing over him. Not a situation he really wanted to be acquainted with, but here he was, going through the exact same motions he'd done for Chopper, for the second time. He was honestly getting a bit more experienced with this sort of scenario than he ever really wanted to be.

_Ah well_, he thought, hoisting the blonde up so he could spit the water out into the toilet. _It's good for something, apparently_.

Zoro tipped the glass back against the cook's lips once more, letting Sanji drink the rest of the water down slowly. Without even needing to ask, another glass materialized near his shoulder, Chopper ever-attentive and oddly quiet, even as he took the empty glass from the swordsman and left the room again. Zoro propped the blonde up against his chest, smoothing his hair off his face and away from his mouth to make drinking easier. The idiot's skin was a bit clammy, but not abnormally cold, so he figured he was doing all right.

"Dumbass," Zoro muttered, voice conspicuously lacking any normal sort of malice. "The fuck were you trying to do, drinking so fucking much? You probably hadn't even recovered from your first hang-over the other day before you started boozin' it again. Idiot."

Sanji just made some exhausted, gurgling noise kind of like a groan, a grimace curling across his pale face.

Zoro sighed, holding the glass up again for the cook to drink from. He seemed too worn out to even speak anymore, or else he'd surely be mocking the swordsman for being such a goddamn mother-hen. He'd probably laugh at the green-haired man, who would argue right back, and a healthy fight would ensue – although the term "healthy" was being used in a very loose sense here – and they'd trade insults and blows until they were too bruised and tired to remember why they'd been pissed in the first place. It was sort of like a ritual. And Zoro had sort of gotten used to it. Sort of maybe liked it. Not that he'd ever tell the spindly prick, but in his own head he could admit it from time to time. But when things were like this: all sad and depressing and fucked up, there was no space for any of that. No time when it was appropriate, because Sanji kept turning himself into a complete mess over shit he really couldn't control, and that was something Zoro never did understand.

And he didn't like seeing the asshole like this. It wasn't Sanji. And Zoro wasn't really sure why it made such a big difference to him, but he decided he didn't need to know.

He cared about the perverted moron. It didn't matter why. As long as Sanji wasn't acting like Sanji, that's how long Zoro would be trying to fix him. Because there were other people in Zoro's life who cared about Sanji, too, people who needed him and wanted him to be happy. Because it mattered to the swordsman's friends.

It mattered to his _nakama_.

And that, for whatever reason, mattered to Zoro.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Is he doing all right now?" Zoro asked, just as Chopper was closing the door to the cook's bedroom. Zoro had hauled his unconscious carcass in there once Sanji had been cleaned up in some approximation of normalcy, where the Med student had taken over – checking Sanji's blood pressure, listening to his heart, taking his temperature, and generally making sure he wasn't going to die anymore. Zoro absolutely _had not_ been pacing outside the door, waiting for the results. He just happened to be walking back and forth, in an area that could, by some definition, be considered "near" the cook's bedroom.

The boy smiled at him then, looking a bit too haggard and worn for such a young person.

"Yeah. He's asleep right now, but when he wakes up he should probably eat some soup. He might be sick for a little while, so he shouldn't eat anything too heavy. By tomorrow he'll most likely be back to his old self. At least physically…"

Chopper trailed off at that, biting his lip and looking worried again.

"What is it, kid?"

He shifted weight, eyes on his socked feet as he said, "I'm worried about him, Zoro. I think he's taking all this worse than we thought. I'm afraid he…I'm afraid he might…take things too far…"

Zoro heaved a sigh, placing a large hand on the boy's narrow shoulder. "Look, don't worry about it. Shit-cook's a lot tougher than he seems. He'll get past this."

Chopper looked up, brown eyes wobbly and scared.

"Do you really think so?"

"I know so."

At that, Chopper bit his lip, fear and worry and stress that he'd been containing for near an hour now spilling out in the heavy tears that rolled down his cheeks. And he moved forward, wrapping skinny arms around Zoro's back and crying for only the second time the swordsman had ever seen. So Zoro hugged him back, pulling the small boy tighter into his embrace, one hand rubbing his back calmingly while the other rested in curly brown hair.

"You did great today, Chopper. You really came through."

"I didn't do anything!" the boy wailed, voice slightly muffled against the fabric of Zoro's shirt. "You did everything. You knew how to take care of him! I was useless!"

"Chopper, stop it!" Zoro barked, sterner than he ever got with the boy, and Chopper tensed up at the sound of it, so shocked he actually quit crying. "Don't ever say stuff like that. You weren't useless. If you hadn't told me his condition, there was no way I could have known what to do with him. And I couldn't have figured that out without you. You're only seventeen, for shit's sake! You'll get better. You'll be the best. I don't doubt that for a second."

And that started another wave of emotion, tears spilling down the young boy's face, soaking the front of Zoro's shirt, small frame shaking from the force of his barely-contained sobs, tiny hands twisting the fabric at the swordsman's back in desperate knots. And he held Chopper, doing relatively little to console, because even then, even for _Chopper_, he couldn't quite master the technique. For the first time in memory, he was starting to sort of regret that particular limitation of his. But he held him in any event, hoping it was somehow enough to make the kid feel like he wasn't totally alone. And he wasn't. There was any number of people in their group of friends who would drop their lives on a dime if Chopper looked even the remotest bit upset.

But Sanji was sort of a different case.

No one was quite that ready to help him out. Not because they didn't care, but because they didn't know. They couldn't. Sanji had them all good and fooled, or at least convinced that he didn't want their help, even when they did notice him having a rough time of it. But Zoro wasn't interested in doing what Sanji wanted. As far as the swordsman was concerned, everyone in life got exactly what they needed from him, nothing more, nothing less. If it wasn't what they wanted, too fucking bad. They needed it, they got it, and Zoro wasn't inclined to give anything beyond that. That's how it worked, and the cook was gonna have to get accustomed to that, because Zoro was gonna _force_ the fucker to get through this rough patch, whether he wanted to or not. Because Zoro decided, right there and then, that he didn't really want Chopper to ever cry again. So Sanji would get over this shit, and fast.

He wasn't gonna make the kid cry any more.

Light snuffles signaled to the swordsman that Chopper had gotten a hold of himself again, and pulled away, wiping his eyes on the sleeve of his oversized T-shirt that may have actually been Zoro's but it was sort of hard to tell at this point.

"You feel better?" Zoro asked, finding it unimaginable that the small boy possibly could.

Chopper sighed a little, eyes staring at the swordsman's midsection, but not really seeing it. Then he sighed again, a tiny smile curving the corner of his mouth, and he looked up, eyes locking with Zoro's once more.

"Yeah. I think I am."

The green-haired man blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah. Why? You seem kinda surprised."

Zoro just shook his head, figuring now wasn't really the time to have this sort of conversation. "Nothing. Go get cleaned up, kid. You've got class this morning."

Chopper smiled brightly, and Zoro felt himself grinning a bit in return. "Kay!"

He turned around, jogging towards their shared bedroom to grab a change of clothes and probably hop in the shower before Luffy woke up and threw everyone's schedule off, but then halted about halfway there. He paused, then turned around and looked back at the swordsman.

"Hey Zoro," he said, a confused expression on his face. "This might not be the best time, but…who's gonna make us breakfast?"

The swordsman froze, face utterly blank as he was faced, for the first time that day, with a serious problem. And given who he lived with, this could escalate into a really, _really _dangerous situation. Especially if Luffy woke up anytime soon.

Zoro couldn't cook. He knew the kids couldn't cook. And Sanji was incapacitated.

He blinked owlishly.

Chopper blinked back.

"…..You don't know?"

Zoro didn't answer, just marched into the kitchen, looking through the cupboards for something, anything that could appease the bottomless pit, Luffy, that didn't require Zoro to turn the stove on. And of course there was nothing, and no, he hadn't thought about this as a possibility when he was holding the shit-cook's hair back while the fuck-face vomited his life up, and so felt he was a little justified in having no fucking idea what to do at this point.

He looked at the clock. It was going on six in the morning. Chopper had an eight o'clock class that he still needed to get ready for. Sanji obviously wasn't going to work.

Zoro huffed in irritation and marched over to the key-dish on the kitchen counter where Sanji kept his cell phone. He had made up his mind.

"Are you gonna cook for us, Zoro?"

"Hell no!" he said, giving Chopper an almost horrified look. "I'm calling the Baratie."

"Do they cater?"

"I don't think they even open until lunch. I'm just telling 'em Curlicue ain't coming to work."

"Well then what are we gonna do about food?" the kid asked, now sounding a bit troubled about their circumstances and shooting a furtive look over his shoulder at the room where the damn monkey-boy was thankfully still asleep.

"When I'm done calling the restaurant," Zoro said, fighting with the urge to vomit, in anticipation of what he was about to say, "I'm gonna call Nami."

* * *

I don't know why, but when I envisioned this last scene, I always pictured Zoro delivering that line, "I'm gonna call Nami," and then there's this dramatic *DOOON!* sound effect and a sudden cut-to-black. I think I wanna write screenplays or something, one day.....


	16. Everybody Needs a Bad Guy

I am fail. Not begun the 18th chapter, because everything broke. Not really, I just started writing a new story, because I have a newer obsession, but I haven't given up on this. I swear I will finish this story, but probably not anytime soon. *Sigh*. Just bear with me. We'll get there, eventually....

But thanks for all of you who've stuck with me through all this garbage. Love you all and your wonderful comments! Love you all!

* * *

One week.

One _entire week_.

Seven full, utterly unbelievable, infuriating, high-blood-pressure inducing days.

That was how long all this bullshit had been going on.

And, really, Zoro had been inclined put an end to this nonsense days ago. As in seven days ago. As in this would never have even been a problem.

But he was going easy. He was letting things run their course. Which usually wasn't too big of a problem for him, but right now it was an absolute insult.

Despite everyone's concern, despite Chopper's attentive care, and despite Zoro's reluctant acquiescence to it all, Sanji showed no sign of improvement. Like he wasn't even _trying_ anymore. Like he actually wanted to stay depressed. He'd just been sitting there on the couch, staring at nothing, for a whole seven days.

If the shit-head hadn't been fucking unconscious the _first_ day, Zoro would have just beaten this funk right out of him then and called it quits. Job done, no complaints, everyone could just move on with their lives.

But no. Chopper had absolutely _forbade_ him, under pain of death, to even _approach_ Sanji too aggressively, much less actually lay a hand on him. And for such a small, innocent, unassuming sort of guy, Chopper radiated this aura of "do not fuck with me" when it came to treating his patients, and Zoro, for all his pride and machismo, was not about the cross the small boy any time soon. So he stood on the periphery, giving the cook a fairly wide birth whenever he moved about the apartment, as though Zoro feared if he came too close to him his control would snap, and he'd end up tackling the blonde to the floor and beating some goddamn sense into him once and for all, which in turn would bring Chopper's unholy wrath down upon him, and he really didn't feel like dealing with that. Not to mention the damn witch would have his balls for breakfast, because, just to make everything else that much worse, what had started as a mild, food-related problem was quickly escalating in a two-part cluster-fuck.

The first part, arguably the biggest part, was that Nami had been coming over every. Single. Day. To make breakfast for the kids. Since Zoro knew fuck all about cooking, and he figured if he even tried to use the blonde's utensils he'd be flayed alive and haunted to the ends of time by the scrawny prick's vengeful spirit, the wisest thing to do seemed to be to call upon the aid of someone a bit more knowledgeable in the culinary field than himself. Preferably someone with breasts, so Sanji couldn't bitch about the "fucking idiot marimo" messing around in his kitchen. So, it was easy to deduce that the solution to Zoro's problem was a woman. The only down side to this plan was that, as it turned out, Nami was a woman. And not just any woman, but the fucking apple of shit-cook's one visible eye. Meaning of course that Sanji would be absolutely incensed if he ever found out she'd been made to do anything more strenuous than _breathing_.

If the cook was lucid enough to find out, that is.

As it stood, Nami had been in the apartment for the last seven days, and Sanji hadn't even tilted his head in her direction. It was by the second straight day of this that Zoro told Chopper of his suspicions that Curlicue had in fact died, but the small Med student had continuously assured him there was actually a pulse. The swordsman wasn't all that comforted.

When Luffy finally started catching on that things were amiss around day five, Zoro was about ready to throw in the towel. The dark-haired boy didn't convey his concern as loud and demonstratively as he normally would, which Zoro took as an indicator of the severity of the situation. Luffy would just move around the apartment like he always did, a vaguely thoughtful look on his face, his incessant babbling greatly diminished as he opted for speculative silence instead. It was unsettling as all hell, and just added to the swordsman's feelings of frustrated restlessness as he watched them all tip-toe around Sanji like he was a goddamn time bomb.

It was some sad, sad shit.

And Zoro didn't know how long he could take it.

The fucking dart-brow never left the couch. He didn't move. He didn't ever stop staring out the windows into the iron grey gloom brought on by November's approach. Chopper had to _feed him_, for fuck's sake! What the hell was that about!?

"He's upset, Zoro," Nami scolded him one day as she wiped the stove down after breakfast. Chopper had already sprinted from the apartment, running late to his morning class, and Luffy had strolled out after him, no doubt off to hunt down a new adventure before lunch came around.

"He's got a lot to deal with right now."

"Yeah, only he's not dealing with shit. He's not _doing anything_!" Zoro grumbled low, scowling at his glass of water because looking at Sanji made him want to break things.

"His father died, Zoro!" Nami hissed, glaring at him, and seeming honestly surprised that he could be so callous. "And it's not like they had the healthiest relationship in the world. There were a lot of unresolved issues between them. There were probably a lot of things Sanji had wanted to talk to him about!"

Zoro's scowl deepened. "I'm not saying he shouldn't be upset. Hell knows it's a lot to get your head around. But the fucker's acting like a damn invalid. He buried his father, he didn't have a stroke!"

"I cannot believe you're a mammal!" the orange-haired girl threw her hands up in agitation. "How is it you can claim to be a warm-blooded creature and still have the sympathetic capacity of a brick wall?"

"Because I'm not trying to sympathize with him!" Zoro exclaimed. "I'm not interested in holding the idiot's hand, I'm interested in him getting the fuck over all this."

Nami sighed, studying the swordsman for a minute before chucking the wash rag back in the sink and fixing him with a frank, no-nonsense stare. "That's all well and good, Zoro. But it isn't as easy as that. Broken bones and cuts will heal over time, but wounds of the heart are more difficult to mend. You can't _force_ his heart back together again."

Zoro scoffed, downing the rest of his water and reaching over the kitchen counter/buffet table to place it in the sink with the rag. "Sounds like bullshit to me."

"That's because you have no soul," Nami muttered, glaring at the swordsman as she came around the table to gather up her purse. "How's your money supply for lunch and dinner? I already told you I'm not making every damn meal for you idiots."

That, as fate would have it, was the second part of the cluster-fuck. Zoro, with what limited funds he'd managed to procure in the down time before his real job started, had been supplying take-out for the other two meals a day that Nami refused to provide. She'd suggested getting Robin, or maybe Kaya to help prepare the other meals, and apparently Franky made some excellent grilled kabobs, but Zoro thought better of that idea instantly. Getting the others involved in the food-providing gig meant they'd have to be informed, to some level, of _why_ Sanji was incapable of cooking. And Zoro just had this sneaking suspicion that Sanji wouldn't really appreciate everyone and their fucking mother knowing about his complete come-apart. So, reluctantly as all hell, Zoro was now footing the bill for stuff.

Or, he _had _been footing the bill. His funds had already run out.

"Yesterday saw the last of it," he admitted, grudgingly at best, because as much as he _fucking hated_ what he was getting himself into with the miserly wench, the kids and Moping Beauty over there still needed food, goddammit.

Nami heaved a long-suffering sigh, the look she gave him tired, and maybe a touch annoyed, but not as overtly angry as she'd been earlier. "You really are hopeless, you know?"

"Work starts in a week," Zoro groused defensively. "If he's still a useless lump by next Friday, I can take care of things." _Although rent's gonna be an interesting situation_.

"What about rent? Isn't that due soon?"

_Shit!_

"Yeah," he grunted. "But I'll figure it out."

The orange-haired girl eyed him oddly for a second, as though he were some sort of rare art that she was trying to decide was worth anything or not.

Then she rolled her eyes, sighing again and seeming slightly defeated.

"You're hopeless _and_ useless. Why the hell do these morons keep you around?"

And with that, she reached into her purse, pulling out her wallet, and extracting a small stack of fifty dollar bills from it. Where the hell she got that kind of money, _in cash_, was not something Zoro felt tempted to find out.

"Here. This should cover food for the next two weeks. Save at least three hundred for rent. After that, you can take care of things with your own money."

Zoro just sort of gaped as Nami grabbed his hand, stuffing the money in his stunned grip.

"That's a loan, all right? I'm charging you interest on it!"

"Uh-huh," the swordsman lulled, not listening and far too amazed at the fact that this was the most cash he'd ever held in his hand at one time. It was sort of a head-trip for him, especially since it was so easily given. By The Hag, no less!

Nami rolled her eyes again, gaze shifting from Zoro's astonished face to the top of Sanji's head just visible over the back of the couch, her features falling significantly.

"I hope he's feeling better soon," she murmured, voice low. "I hate seeing him like this."

The swordsman would have made some biting remark about how all she missed was the constant servitude and praise, but the truly sad and worried look in her brown eyes made him hold his tongue. She seemed to genuinely care about the cook, beyond all the perks she got for supposedly being one of "the fairer species," despite how debatable that point may be. So Zoro let it drop. For now.

"Well, I need to get going," Nami said, breaking Zoro from his thoughts. She swept her purse strap over her shoulder and headed for the door. "Vivi's probably worried herself into a decent-sized fit by now, anyway. I swear to God, that girl will put herself in an early grave, all that damage she does to her nerves."

"Tell her 'hey' from us," Zoro added, seeing her to the door, not out of courtesy so much as the pleasure he got from shutting her out of the apartment.

"'Kay," she replied, opening the door and stepping out into the hall.

Zoro was just about to throw the sliding metal closed, finally ridding himself of the infuriating woman for another day, when a well-manicured hand flew up, catching the side of the door and stopping it in its tracks, delaying Zoro's peace of mind for just that moment longer.

"Oh, and Zoro?" she asked, her eyes suddenly a deceptive calm, her voice falsely sweet. "Remember, now: after your first pay-check, I expect payment on the loan every day, with interest!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," the man grunted, placing a large hand squarely on her face and pushing her out of the way of the door slamming home. Sure, her screams of rage were loud enough to rattle his teeth, but he'd thrown the dead-bolt already, so it officially wasn't his problem anymore.

Finally with the witch gone he could breath easier again, at least until breakfast time tomorrow. Zoro heaved a sigh, waves of relief washing over him, calming and soothing frustrated blood cells that had been steadily boiling since she walked into the apartment that morning; his head no longer a tangled web of aggravation and barely contained fury –

-- Wait, what?

A _loan_? Had she said it was a _loan_!? With _interest_!?

Oh. Fuck.

The bitch's taunting smile reared up like a viper in his mind's eye just then, remembering the way she'd practically smirked at him, mocking him silently. Looking darkly amused, in the way only a predator toying with its prey before the final strike could.

A nasty sense of foreboding descended in the swordsman's gut as he stood in the open space near the kitchen, cold and weighty like an anvil.

Somehow, Zoro got the idea that paying Nami back would be way more painful than simply handing her part of his hard-earned cash. It'd be something akin to cutting out parts of his soul, he imagined, if he actually even had one.

_Well_, he thought, marveling at how his blood-pressure could go from high to moderate to through-the-fucking-roof in a matter of moments, _at least she doesn't know about the swords._

He must have murdered someone in a past life. He must have murdered multiple someones. That was the only explanation for why the universe was fucking him over every single goddamn time he turned around. Zoro didn't think he deserved this, was aware of the fact that he wasn't really the nicest guy in the world, but knew he couldn't be the worst. And yet here he was, trapped in a vicious cycle of frustration and bad luck, with a bunch of clueless fucking people that he was dumb enough to give a shit about, only to have the very few selfless deeds he'd ever done in life thrown back in his face by more shit-karma and more tragedy and assholes like Sanji. Zoro was never one to bitch and moan about his trials in life, but really: this just didn't seem fucking fair.

And the worst part of it all, the part that really set the swordsman's teeth on edge and vexation rolling through his veins: it was his own fault he felt so frustrated and angry about all this. If he'd just strolled through this roommate thing like he always did, he wouldn't be so irritated that one of them was ruining his life. He wouldn't be irritated because he wouldn't care. But Zoro did care, hence his irritation. And it's not like these idiots had _forced_ him to give a damn about them. He just had one day. But despite being a mature person, an adult who should be able to deal with his anger in a healthy sort of way, Zoro had never dealt with anger particularly well. Regardless of knowing that it was his own fault for getting himself all worked up and involved in these people's lives, he was still inclined to get pissed at them when they managed to fuck shit up.

Like Sanji.

A walking contradiction who made Zoro want to choke the ever-loving-hell out of him. He was about as confusing as his fucking curlicue eyebrow. Zoro honestly couldn't stand the fucker, and the fact that he cared about him just infuriated him further. The knowledge that Sanji, however, couldn't give a flying fuck about anything only served to make the swordsman vaguely homicidal.

Zoro grunted harshly, trying to pull himself from his hateful thoughts that weren't really helping his blood-pressure, and scrubbed his hands over his face roughly, trying to vent as best he could since he never got the opportunity to train anymore, since he couldn't break anything 'cuz he'd have to repair it, and since the true source of all this fucking _bullshit_, the goddamn reason for all Zoro's headaches and irritation and bad karma and disgust, was totally and in all ways off limits.

He couldn't lay a hand on Sanji. Chopper would kill him. But it looked like Zoro was gonna stroke to death anyway, so he figured he might as well go out doing what needed to be done. What _should_ have been done a long-ass time ago.

This was not at all what Sanji needed. And no one else seemed to get that. Holding his fucking hand wasn't gonna teach him how to deal with his own problems. Patting him on the head and saying, "Oh, it'll work itself out" wasn't really going to cut it, didn't actually do anything to address the real issue, and Zoro was, apparently, the only one to realize this. He would admit, though, that Sanji was too far gone in his depression to really pull himself out. He _did_ need someone, but not in the way everyone else had been treating him. He needed to be shaken up, snapped out of it, by force if necessary, and no one was willing to do the job. No one wanted to be anything that wasn't kind or understanding, even though they didn't really understand, and they all apparently thought so little of Sanji that they assumed he'd break if anyone pushed him. Sanji _was_ strong. He just needed someone to give him the opportunity to prove it. He needed a bad guy.

And Zoro was nothing if not a bad guy. Everyone – including the fucking cosmos – already thought he was a cold, heartless bastard, so he might as well seal the deal. And there was a good chance they'd never forgive him. Sanji may never forgive him. Zoro may very well get kicked out of the apartment, and despite his surprise at finding out how much he didn't like that idea, this was more important than any of that. This was more important than a roof over his head.

A life outweighed a home. Zoro'd deal with the backlash when it came.

For the moment, he'd just be the bad guy.

Because he _fucking cared_.

He marched purposefully into the living room, rounding the couch until he stood directly over the blanket-encased cook where he sat staring numbly ahead of him. Despite the shadow Zoro cast over the smaller, curled-up frame, and the fact that his torso was very clearly blocking the idiot's view out the window, said idiot didn't seem to notice. Hell, he didn't even blink. Just stared ahead, unthinking, unmoving, utterly frozen in time. The ridiculous-looking soul patch he used to trim fastidiously was growing out, the stubble across his sallow cheeks getting longer. Blonde hair hung in increasingly greasy hanks, dark circles under blue eyes highlighted against the pale skin.

"Fucking pathetic," Zoro muttered. This really had gone on for way too long. He was determined to put an end to it.

"Oi, Sanji," he called, loud and unmistakable.

Hazed eyes continued staring through him.

"Sanji, are you listening to me?"

Nothing. He wasn't surprised. Zoro had known from the very beginning what it would take to get through to him, and it probably wasn't going to be pretty. If Chopper thought the swordsman had been cruel in his tactics when waking the blonde up the morning they found him drunk off his ass, it wouldn't hold a goddamn candle to what he was about to do now.

Zoro leaned closer to the cook, reaching a hand out, twisting it in the worn fabric of Sanji's lounge shirt, and without a second wasted or anymore to-do, he wound back and cold-cocked the skinny blonde in the face.

He didn't weigh much, and Zoro hadn't held back, so the smaller man flew a few feet, crashing pretty hard into the arm of the couch. Now, it was just a matter of time to see whether shit-cook got the message or not.

Sanji was still for a moment, eyes significantly wider than they'd been about a second ago, his limbs limp and utterly motionless. But then, slowly and by degrees, his right hand began to twitch, fingers flexing unsurely, as though they were surprised to be moving so suddenly. And then haltingly, his arm raised, picking up speed as the pain from the blow no doubt began to radiate, pulsing into a deep-tissue bruise, and Zoro knew, he aimed the punch for that very result. Soon, Sanji's thin hand cradled his sore jaw, shock flickering across his face, followed by confusion, and finally, the reaction Zoro'd been looking for: anger. Because anger had to be focused on something, meaning Sanji had to have some sort of awareness, not that shitty blank nothingness he'd been stuck in the last seven days.

Those blue eyes flashed suddenly, surveying the living room in quick, practiced sweeps, like the fighter Zoro knew he was. Then those eyes swiveled around, nailing Zoro to the floor, or at least trying to, and for the first time in a week, Sanji was actually _looking_ at something. Another wave of relief washed over the swordsman, but this one was somehow more concrete and real than the one he felt when Nami had left the apartment. Because while she'd inevitably be coming back at some point, this could very well be a permanent change. Maybe, if he played this right, Sanji wouldn't ever go back to that shitty, depressed place he'd been at.

Anger flared fast and ruthlessly in the blonde, as realizations sunk into a mind that obviously hadn't been too active in a while.

"THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM, YOU SHITTY FUCKING BASTARD!" Sanji roared, voice hoarse, since in addition to moving and thinking, he also hadn't been doing much talking lately.

He was absolutely furious.

Zoro couldn't help the smirk that lifted his lips.

This, unsurprisingly, only served to further piss the cook off.

"WHAT, ASSHOLE!?"

"Nothing," Zoro said evenly. "You were just too pathetic for me to handle anymore, so I figured I'd kick your ass."

"YOU FIGURED YOU _WHAT_!?" the cook scream. "WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE!?"

"Who do you think _you_ are, shit-cook?" the swordsman replied. "You've been hole

d up here on the couch like a scared little pussy. Shit, no wonder the Old Man wrote you out of the will, I'd be ashamed to be associated with you too --"

Before the last word even left his mouth, the blonde was up and swinging his legs out like a scythe, face twisted in the worst sort of painful rage, but it was worth it. Hatred was better than lifelessness, and if the cook never wanted to speak to him again after this, then…

…Well, he'd just have to deal with that.

Zoro blocked the blow, and it hurt like a mother-fucker, but he took it, let the next hit land, and the one after that, blocked the third, countered on the fourth. Soon he'd started a pretty predictable pattern of hit-hit-block-counter-hit-hit-block-counter, but Sanji was too blinded by his ire to notice that this fight was totally set-up.

He was screaming something unintelligible, throwing himself at Zoro with every ounce of strength he possessed, speed fed by his uncontained wrath. The swordsman was on the defensive, getting thrown against walls, nearly getting himself kicked out the window, taking a few choice blows to the head and side before he decided the blonde had gotten a good enough head start. This was the only leeway Zoro was gonna give the curly-eyebrow idiot. He certainly didn't plan on just standing there and letting the blonde beat his ass. When that deadly leg swung up towards his jaw again, a strong arm was there to meet it, curling around the knee and jerking Sanji's body forward, right into the harsh left hook waiting for him. The cook spluttered, falling to the ground once Zoro released his captive appendage, snarling like some vicious animal, a wild hate in his eyes as he leapt right back up, flying at the swordsman with renewed vigor.

And Zoro was right there to meet him, head on. He wasn't sure how this was going to end, and he didn't delude himself into thinking it'd be good by any stretch of the imagination, but if earning Sanji's eternal detestation meant the damn shit-cook could return to being a normal person, then so-fucking-be it.

_It's worth it_, he kept telling himself, taking a sharp kick to the sternum, fist digging into a firm stomach, and a bit surprised at how little convincing he had to do to believe his own excuses.

_It's worth it._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He was banged up beyond all belief. Maybe. It felt like it, in a way. He was sort of hovering somewhere between utter numbness and complete soreness. So much pain, he didn't really feel it anymore. He'd finally caught his breath, and the sweat on his skin had long since dried, leaving it tight and a bit itchy, but there didn't seem to be any serious damage. He was pretty sure he'd just barely avoided a shattered jaw, but he sort of got the impression the blow had glanced slightly to the right on purpose. All in all, despite the many deep, dark bruises he'd no doubt have by tomorrow, he felt pretty okay.

Really okay, actually; the sudden rush of adrenaline, the spike of righteous fury and pain of punches as strong as battering rams served as a bizarrely perfect cocktail to get his blood moving and his brain functioning once more.

And it seemed like it'd been a while since Sanji could boast any of that. Whatever grey, shit kind of purgatory he'd been stuck in the last week or so was lifted in the wake of primal violence. And Sanji was gonna go out on a limb and guess that not many doctors would prescribe brutal beat-downs as a panacea for mind-numbing depression, but the cook operated _very_ differently from most people, and luckily he just happened to have someone around who was similar enough to notice this particular difference. Someone just as hot-blooded as the cook himself; someone who enjoyed a good fight more than watching some pansy-assed football game and making crude tit-jokes. Someone who was as much of an average guy as Sanji was.

Someone like Zoro.

Sanji tilted his head slightly, battered skull protesting loudly as it rolled across the hard floor of the living room where he lay splayed on his back. The swordsman sat cross-legged just a few feet away, back hunched slightly over his lap as he wiped the blood from his chin; Sanji, through his haze of blind fury, vaguely recalled mule-kicking the marimo in the jaw, hard enough that it should have brutally snapped at the joint, but all the swordsman had to show for it was a deep bruise and a busted lip. Fucker was _tough_, Sanji had to give him that. And strong as hell, if the sharp throbbing in his sides was anything to go by. It'd been a fucking long time since they'd had an honest-to-God fight, what with all the shit that had been happening of late, and it'd felt unbelievably good to work off all that pent-up aggression; to find some sort of focus for the multitude of distracting, depressing thoughts that had been swirling around his head for the past couple of weeks. In a way, it served to put everything into perspective.

And yeah, Sanji was thankful for that. He may have resented it at the start, but now, with his heart a steady lub-dub in his ears and his blood thrumming softly, aching and exhausted, but oddly peaceful, he could admit that things were better. And he was man enough to admit the cause of this "better" was not, in fact, his own amazing manly charisma.

The cause – as horrifying as it was to own up to – was the shit-swordsman.

And he figured he ought to say something about that. Because, well…the fucker just deserved it. Or something.

So with a grunt, and several brand new sparks of pain in his back, Sanji managed to heave himself into a sitting position mirroring that of Zoro's, who had simply given up on his hands and proceeded to dab at his split lip with his T-shirt that, at one point, had probably been white. It'd clearly seen better days. So had its wearer, Sanji concluded with some amount of guilt-laced amusement. The swordsman had definitely come out the worse for wear, and Sanji may be proud, but he certainly wasn't about to take credit where it wasn't due: it was no real coincidence that Zoro had taken the brunt of the beating, without returning even half the damage on Sanji. Asshole had gone easy on him, and in most cases the cook would consider that akin to pitying him, which he did not tolerate under any circumstances, but…maybe just this once, he could make an exception. Because instead of feeling childish and inferior, all he really felt was grateful. Which he figured must mean something pretty important. What exactly, he wasn't all that clear on, but it didn't matter at that very moment, at least not as much as swallowing his ego and telling the green-haired moron that he did, in fact, appreciate Zoro's…what, dedication? Willingness to help? Friendship?

Well, it was something or other. He'd figure it out as he went.

"Hey," Sanji spoke up just then, voice slightly croaked, and he was annoyed by his sudden impulse to hop to his feet and run away over the mere _prospect_ of having to thank this asshole.

Zoro tensed almost imperceivably at the sound of his voice, the ministrations on his mouth halting a second, before he resumed a little stiffly, trying for nonchalance and only succeeding in looking a bit trapped.

"What?"

The sound was tight, a forced calm, with the barest hint of trepidation in his tone.

Sanji blinked, almost positive that this was a mirage, because he honestly had never witnessed the swordsman act like anything that wasn't total arrogance. So this edgy, nearly _meek_ Zoro must certainly be a figment of his imagination; some crazy side-effect of massive booze consumption, seven days with hardly any blinking, and several very harsh blows to the head. This Zoro could not possibly be real. It was almost like…like the man was nervous. _Worried_, even, though for the love of his limbs, Sanji would never voice this opinion out loud.

_What the hell could he possibly be worried about? The fight? He can't be worried that he hurt me, I doubt the fucker cares that much. Is he worried I'm __**mad**__ at him for the fight? Does he think I __**hate**__ him for—_

Some choice brain cells fried in that very second, as the realization finally came crashing down like an iron weight on his head.

That was it, wasn't it? Zoro thought Sanji hated him for the fight. Thought he'd be pissed that Zoro was evil enough to hit a man when he was down, and that he must be the worst human in the world for saying all that heinous shit to him about his father, who had just died; purposefully hitting tender spots because he knew that would get a reaction. And if Sanji was any other person on the face of the earth, he probably would be pissed. He'd probably detest the swordsman and his very existence, spit heated, hate-filled curses at him and kick him the fuck out of the apartment that very moment. In fact, if this situation had presented itself about a month earlier that's exactly what Sanji would have done. Chucked all the fucker's shit right off the fire escape with the marimo not a second behind, and goddamn the kid's complaints straight to hell. He wouldn't even care, because it's what the asshole deserved.

But now, sitting in their trashed living room, the coffee table flung over near the windows, the rug all bunched up and ripped at the corner, the couch toppled over on its back, Zoro still sitting there with his shirt to his lip, looking like a man awaiting the gallows, and the fierce aching in every one of the cook's muscles, Sanji couldn't even bring himself to be pissed. Which sort of convinced him that either he or Zoro had to be terminally ill, and his bets were going on himself, because that'd be just his shitty luck to finally crawl outta this depression to find out he has testicular cancer. A tiny fraction of his brain that wasn't liquefied and utterly ruined was fairly certain he should be at least vaguely annoyed by everything, if not over the sharp pain in his bones, than for the awful things Zoro had said to him. But there again, the cook couldn't even fake being mad. Because, as much as he hated it sometimes, he knew the marimo, to an extent. He knew it wasn't Zoro's style to be petty, and that regardless of what he'd said, he hadn't meant any of it. Sanji understood why the swordsman had touched upon such hurtful stuff, and it was to get the blonde to snap out of his funk. Sanji knew that, could appreciate the effort, and he did.

Honestly.

Even if that old tried-and-true sense of impending doom was settling around him again, like it did whenever Sanji was about to admit, even if to himself, that he didn't hate Zoro as much as he acted like he did.

But more than anger, more than irritation, more than gratitude, even, Sanji was mostly just shocked that Zoro even gave a damn about what the blonde thought. The fact that the normally calm, collected, stoic swordsman was all anxious and worried over whether or not Sanji hated him was …well, honestly, it was one of the cutest fucking things Sanji'd ever seen. And he felt a bit like pummeling his head into the nearest solid surface for even _contemplating_ such an awful thing as _Zoro_ being _cute_, or nice, or compassionate, or anything that wasn't utterly annoying and pig-headed.

But there it was. He'd thought it. No real taking it back. At least Zoro wasn't aware of it.

_I must be going fucking crazy,_ the cook thought miserably, eventually realizing that he'd never actually responded to the swordsman's question.

He cleared his throat loudly, trying to collect his thoughts from the rubble of his last brain-breakage.

"Um, I just…" he paused, swallowing, convincing himself that despite his objecting pride and severely confused mind, it was only right that Sanji do this. He'd put the marimo through a lot of shit for about two weeks now, ever since the funeral, and he owed this to the moron, however bad of a taste it left in his mouth.

Which, admittedly, wasn't as bitter as he'd sort of hoped it would be.

"I just...I wanted to say…thanks. I guess."

He couldn't look at Zoro. Because he was an idiot. And he _wasn't_ blushing.

There was a lengthy pause on the swordsman's end, though, long enough to pique the cook's curiosity – he damn sure wasn't _concerned_, because that would mean he gave a damn, which he did not, even though he did, and he was gonna stop thinking now – and he, against his better judgment, shifted his gaze to peer at the green-haired man from under the cover of his bangs.

The look he found in the other man's eyes brought his aching, over-worked mind to a screeching halt. They were intense, serious, and a touch disbelieving as they studied Sanji, looking at him, looking into him, trying to suck out his soul through his own blue eyes and examine every facet of it; to determine whether the cook was being sincere, or just lying to cover up his anger, of which there was none, because Sanji hadn't been lying. He was grateful. Really. And Zoro saw that eventually, eyes softening about a fraction when he found what he'd been looking for, all the tenseness draining out of his body in an instant.

Then the bastard the fucking gall to offer Sanji the most open, genuine little half-smile that the cook had ever seen from the usually-smirking asshole, sending the blonde's brain reeling once more because, honestly, what the fuck was _that _about? But before Sanji had too much time to wonder at what was no doubt a sign of the apocalypse approaching, the marimo stood up – a bit slower than normal, for which Sanji allowed himself an evil smirk – and wandered around the couch, stretching as he said, "No problem, shit-cook. You were due up for an ass-kicking, anyway."

And Sanji was about to fire off a really clever retort to that. Really, he was. He had the biting rejoinder all planned out and keyed up in his mind, he was ready to lash out with it that very next second … and that's when Sanji actually realized what the idiot was _doing_, and his brain, his nervous system, and all sense of rational judgment utterly and irrevocably shattered.

As the swordsman stretched, arms above his head, back arching cat-like, his tattered white shirt rode up slightly revealing a few inches of toned, tanned stomach that Sanji hadn't even realized he'd never seen until that exact instant, and he felt a startling heat sweep up his neck and across his face just then and he had no idea what any of this was, or what exactly was happening and _what the hell is that? Is that a scar? Does he have a scar on his stomach? Is that why he never goes without a shirt? Not that I want him to. Because that would be weird of me. Yeah. Very weird. _

Jesus Fucking Hell, what was Sanji's problem all of a sudden? He must have taken a pretty hard blow to the head, because brain damage was really the only excuse for this.

He was _not_ blushing, he was _not_ feeling a bit too warm all of a sudden, and he _damn sure wasn't turning away like a giggling little fan-girl! Not that he was giggling! He wasn't! He was too fucking horrified to giggle, or really make any sound other than choking and a noise that somehow signified despair! That was all! Really!_

After listening to the popping joints and faint grunting coming from the man Sanji was tying desperately hard not to look at right now, the marimo finally started moving again, heading into the kitchen.

"Want something to drink, Curlicue?"

"Mrphglbah!"

"What?"

Sanji tried again and managed to say words this time.

"Water!"

"…'Kay."

Zoro sounded confused. Sanji didn't blame him. He was pretty confused, himself. Mostly about why he, despite wanting so badly to burst into flames, had yet to combust. He glared at the floor, pouting. Fucking laws of physics. What the hell had they done for him lately?

The swordsman padded back into the living room a moment later, a glass of ice water in each hand, and yes, his shirt was back in place, but did that stop Sanji from thinking about that foreign stretch of skin that may or may not have a significant scar on the lower right side?

Fucking no. He couldn't even _look_ at the asshole without imagining how far up the scar must trail or wondering how he got it, or musing on how he managed an even tan when the cook never saw him take his shirt off. Ever. Again, not that he wanted to. It was just a weird quirk. Only natural for Sanji to be curious, right? Only normal that he'd develop an interest in the possibly-scarred stomach of his roommate, because he never saw the man without a shirt. Totally understandable that Sanji would become obsessed with his _male friend's_ naked abdomen because he never saw it on a regular basis.

Of course. It all made perfect sense ….

… He was so fucked. And he was wondering if Zeff had raised him to be _so_ tough that a fall from a five story fire escape wouldn't kill him. He was very tempted to find out.

Sanji averted his eyes as Zoro walked up to him, offering a glass of water to the cook. He took it, mumbled something that might have been another thank you, and proceeded to sip his drink while making sure to look at anything at all that wasn't the shit-swordsman.

There was a longish pause then, Zoro still standing next to him, far too close for the blonde to be entirely comfortable, and he could feel those intense eyes staring at him once more, but this time he would not make the mistake of meeting that gaze. Zoro had already proven himself to have some crazy, esoteric mind-reading ability, and Sanji _damn_ sure didn't want him seeing anything of the cook's current train of thought in his blue eyes. He could keep it all a secret from the marimo, if only he avoided ever meeting the fucker's eyes again. At least until his insanity let up a little. He _had_ been cooped up in the apartment for a week. Surely all he needed was some fresh air, and all this freaky shit would simply billow away with the wind.

He heard the swordsman take a breath.

"Oi, Sanji…"

A wave of something crashed into his chest, and damned if another shitty blush didn't assault his face, and the cook was about five seconds from breaking his glass on the wooden floor and slashing his throat with the jagged edges. This was getting so far beyond fucked up, he couldn't stand it.

_All he did was say my name!_ Sanji raved internally, sounding crazy even in his mind. _He's said my name a bunch of times, it doesn't mean shit that he does it now, and why am I acting like some fucking prepubescent little girl!?_

"Sanji, I --"

The door to the apartment slammed open just then, and the cook had never been so glad to see that straw-hat-wearing idiot before in his entire life. Because if Zoro said whatever it was he'd been about to say, Sanji was pretty sure he'd have to kill himself before something … hell, he didn't even know what, he just knew it'd ruin fucking everything, and right now, with as shaky as his life had become, he really didn't need another support beam knocked out from under him.

He needed Zoro to just keep things as they were. He needed him to quit changing shit whenever Sanji was in no position to do anything about it. He couldn't handle it. Not now, and not ever.

Right now, he just needed everything to go back to the way it used to be.

"ZORO!" the unmistakable sound of Luffy's exuberant yelling hit home, and it felt like Sanji hadn't heard that obnoxious voice in months, which really just showed how fucking out of it he must have been, to be able to tune _Luffy_ out.

"ZORO, I WENT TO THE ARCADE, AND I PLAYED THIS GAME ABOUT PIRATES, AND ONE OF THEM HAD A SWORD JUST LIKE YOURS, ONLY HIS HAIR WAS BLACK, AND IT WAS BRAIDED AND HE LOOKED SORTA FUNNY, AND THEN THIS GIRL WON A PURPLE ELEPHANT AND DIDN'T WANT IT AND SHE _LET ME HAVE IT_! ISN'T THAT _AWESOME_!"

A brief pause.

"Yes, Luffy. That's awesome."

"Mind-numbingly so," Sanji added, realizing at _that very second_ that he didn't know where his cigarettes were, and that he'd quite like a nicotine hit. Like, right-the-fuck now.

The dark-haired boy blinked a second, tilting his head so his straw hat nearly fell off, as he regarded the two nakama and the destroyed living room with a blank look on his face. And then:

"SANJI! YOU'RE OKAY! YOU'RE TALKING AND STUFF! AND YOU KICKED ZORO'S ASS! You must be feeling better!"

"Oi!" Zoro growled.

Sanji merely laughed, shocked at how stiff the muscles of his face felt when they attempted a smile, and he knew it had nothing to do with getting punched by the fucking Neanderthal. But he didn't have long to speculate on that, because that revved-up ball of energy finally exploded across the room, slamming into Sanji and sending him toppling backwards, cracking his already-sore head on the hard floor, but the cook didn't mind all that much.

"I knew you'd get better soon! Everyone was real worried, but I knew you'd be okay! But why'd you take so loooooooong!?"

"Sorry, Luffy," Sanji just grinned. "Won't happen again. Honest."

The boy leaned above the sprawled man and beamed wide from ear-to-ear. "Hee hee!"

Sanji heard a faint grunt from somewhere near him, and heard the marimo muttering something about stupid kids and useless cooks, but only half-heartedly at best, and Sanji felt the cogs of his world finally settling back into their proper place. Felt like he was no longer coming unglued, and shit would start making sense again. There were just two more pieces he needed for everything to feel right again.

Over Luffy's loud rejoicing and Zoro's grumbled annoyance, he heard the rapid patter of feet barreling up the stairs and noticed, a bit belatedly, that the door to the apartment was still open. And then in a whirlwind of flapping jackets and papers flying from an open back-pack, Chopper burst through the doorway, looking winded and incredibly panicked.

"WHAT IS IT!? I HEARD SCREAMING, AND I CAME AS FAST AS I COULD! NO ONE'S HURT, RIGHT!!!???"

"Look, Chopper! Sanji's back!" Luffy shouted, waving at the shaggy-haired boy from where he was perched on the cook's stomach.

The look of sheer glee and delight that lit up the young boy's face made Sanji simultaneously feel like the happiest guy alive, and a complete dick, for making such a nice kid worry about him so much. Chopper made a mad dash for him, throwing his back-pack aside as he went, and was kind enough not to body-slam the blonde, choosing instead to kneel beside him and hug the slender man around the neck. He heard the little guy sniffle into his shoulder.

"Hey, Chopper. You okay?" Sanji asked, hand coming up to pat the curly brown mess.

"I'm just…I'm just so happy you're all right!!!!!" the kid warbled, squeezing him tighter, while Luffy decided to wrap his arms around the both of them for an impromptu group hug.

"Zoro!" the boy cried. "Come hug with us!"

The swordsman snorted slightly, tipping his glass back for another drink of water.

"I think I'll pass, Luffy."

"Aw, Zoro's no fun! He never wants to hug!"

_Thank Christ for that!_ Sanji thought, wishing the idiot would shut his mouth before the marimo got it in his crazy head to actually get down there and hug them all just to prove to Luffy that he could, because Zoro would do something dumb like that. And Sanji didn't really need the asshole getting that close to him.

"But what on earth happened here?" Chopper asked suddenly, looking over the top of Sanji's head at the rampant destruction in the living room. "Everything's all messed up and the couch is flipped! And," he paused looking at Sanji, _really_ examining him this time, and there was no hiding the multitude of bumps and bruises he was currently sporting. "Sanji, you look awful! How did this happen! It looks like you were in a fi --"

Chopper halted. A deathly silence fell around the apartment as those chocolate brown eyes slowly swiveled over to regard the swordsman, who looked like a field mouse that'd been cornered by an owl. It only took the boy a few seconds to realize that Zoro looked much the same as Sanji, markedly worse, in fact, but that didn't garner enough of the boy's pity, apparently.

"Zoro…" Chopper muttered, dark and threatening.

The larger man swallowed, his eyes widening to frightened orbs.

"What did I tell you about picking a fight with Sanji?"

It was eerie, hearing that sort of tone from the small boy, like the calm before a storm. Sanji felt for the larger man. He really did.

"Um…" Zoro lulled, hand tightening reflexively on the glass in his hand.

"I specifically told you NOT TO START A FIGHT WITH MY PATIENT WHEN HE WAS ILL!!!"

And with that, the small Med student shot off the ground, making a mad lunge at the swordsman, who side-stepped him and bolted away into the kitchen, his glass of water abandoned on the living room rug.

"ZORO, GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!" Chopper bellowed in a voice Sanji didn't think such a compact body could create, as he scrambled back to his feet and tore off after the escaping man.

Shouts of horror and rage filled the apartment, along with the symphony of things falling of the walls and shit breaking, and everything was starting to feel like home again for Sanji. He smirked, idly patting himself down in the hope that Chopper had left his pack of cigarettes in his pajama pockets.

"I'm glad you're back, Sanji," Luffy said then, still sounding happy, but with a rare edge of seriousness to it.

The blonde looked up, regarding his younger nakama as the other two did another mad lap around the apartment. He smiled at the boy, who was always so genuine, so honest to a fault that it was really quite inspirational, if the moron didn't so often spoil the moment with his unbridled dumbness.

But, this was Luffy. And Luffy wouldn't be Luffy if he didn't ruin every moment that might possibly have some true meaning.

"'Cuz I was getting tired of Nami's cooking all the time!"

Sanji blinked, certain that he had heard wrong.

"What do you mean, 'Nami's cooking'? Why was that goddess preparing food for you bastards?"

"None of us can cook," the boy said, shrugging. "So Zoro called Nami over to make breakfast for us, since you weren't moving and stuff. Her food was okay, but I like Sanji's best."

And with that, Luffy smiled proudly at the cook.

Said cook, however, was not taking this news quite so well.

"You mean to tell me," he started, trying to contain the fury boiling inside of him, his limbs practically shaking with the force of it, "that that gorgeous creature, that angel among sinners, was summoned here every. Single. _Day_. To make breakfast for you ungrateful, uncultured _swine_!?"

Luffy shoved a pinky in his nose. "Yep. Pretty much."

And Sanji realized then that he didn't need a nicotine hit. He didn't need to bask in the presence of his queens to feel complete again. All he really needed for everything to go back to normal was this: uncontrolled, righteous, _murderous_ wrath.

Aimed at none other than the shitty, moss-brained, marimo-headed, asshole of a swordsman.

"FUCKING DICKHEAD! YOU HAD THE PRECIOUS MISS NAMI COOK YOUR MEALS FOR YOU, YOU UNCOUTH SHIT-MONGREL!!!"

And with that, Sanji joined in on Chopper's Zoro-hunt the next time they made a circuit around the living room, throwing soup ladles and acidic curses at the green-haired man, promising him a proper ass-whooping when he finally got his feet on him. And with Chopper threatening an early autopsy beside him, Sanji felt that, really, things had turned out pretty all right.

Things were much, much better.

And yeah, even now, it was still because of the marimo.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Many hours later, once Zoro's beatings were finally over and everyone had wandered off to do something else, the swordsman cursed as he cautiously lowered himself into the steaming bath that Chopper ordered he take once the smaller boy caught sight of the many bruises and lacerations all up and down Zoro's back when the green-haired man had attempted to change shirts in their shared room.

The proud warrior winced slightly as the hot water touched a particularly angry cut, every inch of muscle tight and sore and begging for the warmth that still stung like _hell_.

_It's worth it_, the swordsman chanted, finally sinking his body into the welcoming heat of the bath tub, drawing in a sharp hiss through his teeth at the fierce scream every wound on his body let up at once after being submerged.

_It's worth it, it's worth it, it's worth it!_

The fresh bottle of Sakura, Fine Aged Sake waiting for him beside his dinner plate that night was proof enough that Zoro had been right all along.

* * *

Poor Zoro.....he suffers so for the sake of Sanji's sanity and sake......*glances at previous sentence* There are way too many s's in that sentence. I'm crazy.


	17. A Breach in Security

Reclining easily against the worn, comfortable cushions of the couch, sipping sparingly at his bottle of sake and staring out the windows at the scenic view provided by the grey-brick wall of the abandoned tenement across the street from the Merry Sun Apartments, and with a gentle, slightly foreign tranquility engulfing the entire room, Zoro could admit, at least to himself, that he was happy. The apartment was empty, quiet, for once not echoing cries of surprise or mirth, but calm, sweet and peaceful. And especially in the aftermath of all the fucked up trauma that had been bombarding their lives of late, the reprieve was even more noticeable and deeply appreciated. Chopper was no longer righteously pissed at the swordsman and threatening to sedate the man into a permanent coma, and Luffy had given up the solemn introspection in favor of a louder and, admittedly, more annoying pastime of telling inane knock-knock jokes to his new friend, Burpgurglehampizzasteak, who was in fact the purple elephant he'd gotten at the arcade a few days ago.

Strange, yes.

Normal? Unfortunately so.

However the most relieving difference was, of course, with the shit-cook. Zoro counted it a success of epic proportions when he'd managed to wake up three days in a row without finding a pathetic ball of blonde on the couch, drinking himself into blind, depressed stupors over things in life he couldn't change. Instead, the idiot's abrasive swearing and obnoxious trillings over anything with boobs once again pervaded the formerly stagnant and somber atmosphere in the apartment; the delicious aromas of his grade-A cooking beginning to chase away the scents of stale liquor and regret. But where the change was most obvious was in the cook's eyes. The dull, opaque haze that Zoro had gotten accustomed to glaring at in abject irritation and disgust were back to the bright, blue, gleaming fury of the perpetually pissed off, ornery, short-tempered jackass Zoro had first met and came to grudgingly respect. And he was surprised, honestly, that after all that had happened, and for how infuriated and exhausted Zoro had been as a result of trying to hold this idiot's crumbling life together; through all that, his level of respect for Sanji hadn't diminished in the slightest. It probably should have. It would make sense if it had. Zoro'd lost respect for people over things a lot more damaging than pissing and moaning 'cuz daddy never said he loved you before he kicked it. Really, by the precedent already set in Zoro's life, he should have packed his stuff and left eons ago, what with all the bullshit he put up with from these damn people.

But, he stayed. He stayed because he cared. And it had been a long ass time since he'd allowed himself to feel that, but since it happened to sneak up on him out of the blue, he figured he wasn't totally to blame. He was also shocked at how little it seemed to bother him, upon relfection, that in the course of a few months, he'd managed to turn back on every principle he'd ever adhered to in life. A bit unsettling, really, and if he were a little less relaxed he might even be somewhat pissed with himself, but it was such a calming day, free from the angst and dread that had nearly become a staple of daily activity in this apartment, that Zoro didn't feel inclined to dwell on things from the past, or things he had no say in. It was the way it was, and he'd leave it at that.

He was happy, after all. And it'd been even longer since the last time he ever truly felt _that_.

It was nice, he decided, with another sip off his sake, sinking lower into the couch and maneuvering to a more comfortable position. It was nice to feel this calm. It was nice that, for once, he felt confident that he could lower his guard, and not get fucked over because of it. Took a load off his mind, that was for sure. He could rest easy, knowing nothing was sneaking around the corner, waiting to attack the moment he was unaware; secure in the knowledge that he wasn't being hunted.

_Safe_, he realized, was the word for all this soothing ease. He felt safe here.

And Zoro had _never_ felt that before in his life.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He didn't know when he'd fallen asleep. He probably wouldn't even call it sleep, more like a muddled, half-dozing sort of state brought on by comfort and quiet and booze. But regardless of when he'd slipped into this daze, or even what the appropriate term for it would be, its effects were soundly and suddenly broken by the tentative knocking at the door that only now registered to his somewhat slackened senses. No telling how long it'd been going on for, but the sound was much too polite for it to have been an excessive amount of time.

Grumbling only slightly as he stood from the softness and the appeal of the living room couch, the swordsman quickly ran through all possibilities of who the hell it could be – ruling out all his roommates, with the exception of Luffy, 'cuz he tended to lose his key a lot. But then he remembered the door was unlocked anyway, and any one of those fools he lived with would have already tried the door by now. So it was definitely a caller, and not a regular one by how timid the knocking sounded. There was a chance it was Usopp, since he was pretty skittish by nature, but if he was looking for Luffy he'd probably be a bit more boisterous, given whatever the circumstances were regarding the reason for his trip. And whoever it was most probably knew that Sanji and Chopper were gone, so the only candidates this visitor was likely to be looking for were Luffy or Zoro. And since the only person who really needed to see Zoro for anything was that goddamn witch, Nami, and considering he had yet to start work, so therefore hadn't gotten a paycheck yet, Zoro's bets were on the caller coming to speak with Luffy.

All this he managed to deduce by the time he'd walked across the apartment and reached out for the handle, sliding the door swiftly along its track while simultaneously saying, "If you're looking for Luffy, he's out at the - "

"Oh! Hello!" a bright yet uncertain voice piped up just then, and Zoro's dry dismissal died on his lips when he realized the caller at the door was quite possibly the last person he'd ever have figured into the equation.

"….Hey, Vivi," he said, blinking slightly at the young, blue-haired girl, feeling confused and a bit off-balanced. "How are you doing?"

She didn't seem all that confident, either, suggested by her blue doe-eyes darting around nervously and the way her pale fingers lightly tugged at themselves.

"Oh, I'm fine!" the heiress replied cheerily.

_Lie_.

Zoro gauged her for a second, weighing the situation in his mind; he didn't know much about Vivi, didn't know what she did in a day, or how busy she was, but he knew she wasn't really one to just drop by a friend's apartment at random, with no real intent behind it. That was one thing he'd noticed about the younger girl right from their first meeting: despite her whimsical appearance, she was a very down-to-earth and purposeful person. And she never did things "just because." Which meant there was a reason she was here. But she seemed reluctant to come clean. It was also odd for her to be here for something when Sanji wasn't around; he was the one she tended to interact with the most out of all the apartment's inhabitants. And it wasn't like she didn't know Sanji worked nine-to-ten six days a week

_So what the hell is her M.O?_

Well, Zoro was well-rested and in a good mood. He could play this game for a while, at least.

"So, what brings you here?" he asked, trying to keep all traces of suspicion out of his features; let her think she had the wool over his eyes. "You know, Sanji doesn't get off work for another four hours."

"Oh really?" she asked, feigning surprise, and very badly, at that.

"Yeah," Zoro went on, leaning against the door frame, his face still a mask of naive ignorance. "And Chopper's got classes until late, of course."

"Ah yes, he would, wouldn't he?" Vivi had the audacity to look vaguely thoughtful over this information, as though it were anything more complicated than a straight fact.

_Damn, she really is not good at this_, the green-haired man marveled slightly.

"And Luffy's out, too. Don't really know where he is, but he's got his biological clock timed to when Sanji gets back to make dinner, so he'll be a while coming, too."

"Yes, I see…"

She stared up at him, eyes trying very hard for innocence, and still managing to look ridiculously shifty. Clearly she was hiding something. And either she was the most transparent person on the face of the _planet_, or – and the swordsman thought this the more likely, and more interesting case – Vivi was hiding something that she didn't actually want to hide. She just didn't want to be responsible for bringing whatever "it" was into center stage.

Zoro's eyes narrowed marginally. Okay. He was done playing now.

"Give it up, Vivi. You don't have a devious bone in your body."

Those hesitant eyes blinked up at him, her confusion about as poorly acted as her last performance.

"What…what do you mean?" she asked, smooth brow furrowed theatrically.

Zoro sighed a bit. _So, she's not going down without some token resistance, I see_.

"Vivi, I _just_ told you that the entire apartment is empty of all my roommates, and that not a damn one of them will be back for hours, and you've made no move to leave. There's obviously a reason why you're here."

Her eyes widened to large, worried orbs, her whole body tensed and poised for retreat. "I-if I'm intruding, I'll leave! I didn't mean to impose on you, or anything, honest! I just - "

"My God, you're worse than Chopper!" Zoro exclaimed, rubbing at his face roughly, because really, this wasn't that hard. "I'm not mad, Vivi. But you're lying. You're not fine, you know you need to talk to someone, but you don't want to, so you're talking yourself in circles. And I'm tired of playing along, already."

Vivi bit her lip then, eyes finally showing a trace of whatever pain she was struggling with at the moment. Her gaze shifted to the ground, and Zoro began to notice that was a trend with most of the people he spoke to frankly. Whatever. He'd deal with that anomaly later. First, he had to clear this hurdle.

Sighing again, trying to tone down some of the intensity, because she was clearly anxious and upset about something, Zoro opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Well, come in. I'll get you something to drink, at least."

"Th-thank you, Zoro. I r-really appreciate this, I don't know how I can repay you…" Vivi spoke to her shoes.

The swordsman grabbed her chin just then and raised it so she looked at his almost reprimanding expression dead-on. "If you want to pay me back, don't let your eyes drop even a centimeter below mine, got it? I hate talking to the crowns of people's heads."

She nodded, the corner of her lip quirking just the slightest. "Okay Zoro. I promise."

"All right. That's better."

He flashed her a quick grin before leading her into the apartment, closing the door behind her and heading off to the kitchen to get her drink. "Go ahead and sit down," he called over his shoulder as he grabbed a glass and filled it with cool water from the sink – he'd bust out the tea pot if she got _really_ teary-eyed – and wandered back into the living room to see she'd taken up his former seat on the couch.

"Here," he said, holding out the drink, which she took gratefully and began sipping at daintily, because she was just one of those chicks who did _everything_ daintily, even hock a loogie. For his part, Zoro simply moved his bottle of sake further down the coffee table and perched himself on the edge, facing his distressed nakama. "Although, really, I dunno why you're here right now. Woulda made more sense to wait a few hours until Curlicue got home, if you ask me."

"I'm … I'm not here to talk to Sanji," she murmured, looking into her glass as though it were a crystal ball.

"Oi, eyes, remember?" Zoro said firmly. "And what do you mean, you're not here to see the cook? Who are you here for, then?"

Her eyes met his, a bit scared and uncomfortable, but not because of him.

"I came because I wanted to talk to you."

Zoro blinked. And again. Three times' a charm …

Nope, it still didn't make sense. There was a faint buzzing in the back of his head, like stunned gnats were bashing around the inside of his skull, looking for a way out, and a strange sense of foredobing crept up on him.

This was … definitely a first for him. He never thought he would actually _witness_ someone lose their mind, and the process was surprisingly more composed than he thought it would be, seeing as Vivi only looked a little jumpy and not bat-shit crazed, which is how they always show it in the movies. Zoro was pretty sure she was insane, hard to imagine any other cause for such a psychotic statement …

… But just in case she _wasn't _completely nuts …

"… You want to talk to _me_?" he asked, very slowly, so Vivi was totally aware of what she'd just said.

She nodded, her eyes slowly losing that timid air, and instead just looking sad, yet unequivocally sane. "Yes. I do."

His face contorted into a look of sheer bewilderment and "what-the-fuck."

"_Why_?"

The swordsman didn't mean to sound so incredulous, but this was seriously bizarre for him, and it took just about every iota of will-power he had to wrap his mind around what the young, blue-haired girl was asking.

"Because," she started, tone taking on a sort of careful, business-like quality, slim hands smoothing the fabric of her skirt across her legs just for something to do, " … given the nature of my … _problem_ … I thought you would be the best person to discuss it with. You would take me seriously. Sanji, I think, would be a bit too … distracted … to be very effective as a source for advice."

That statement didn't ring very true to Zoro's ears for more than one reason, and he found himself a bit defensive and oddly disappointed in Vivi, figuring she would have been a lot more astute than that. There was also a squirming sense of horror in his gut, but he'd get to that in a second.

Before that, though, he leveled her a very firm, no-nonsense look and held up his index and middle fingers for her to see.

"Two things, okay?"

Vivi bit her lip at his stern tone, eyes going wide as she nodded obediently.

"First off," Zoro started, counting off the longer of the two digits, "don't sell the cook short. Yes, he's a complete and utter dumb-fuck, and he waits on you girls with an obsessive devotion that is clearly unhealthy. _But_," he stressed heavily, looking her dead in the eye, "that guy would bend himself in a pretzel for you in a heartbeat. He'd do _anything_ for you, and if he saw you truly in trouble, I'd lay money down that he'll drop the 'simpering-servant' schtick and help you in all earnest. And I'm not a betting man. Got it?"

Vivi sighed and nodded again, looking a little ashamed. "Yes. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sure Sanji would take it seriously as well."

"Good. Now, the second thing," and here his was a bit sharper, and very nearly mocking, that horror undulating like a particularly lively eel, "what the hell would ever possess you to come to _me _for advice? About anything? Unless you're looking for a night in jail, I wouldn't listen to a goddamn thing I say."

She frowned at that, her eyes suddenly focusing on his with a tad more confidence, and a touch of her own disappointment, as she said, "You're a much nicer person than you seem to think you are, Zoro."

He simply rolled his eyes and shrugged. "Well, whatever. You're the one all twisted in a knot over something. Spill it."

Whatever assuredness the girl had managed to conjure up a moment ago vanished pretty damn quickly, and she went back to tugging on her fingers and worrying her lip. Her eyes danced around, and it was pretty obvious she was petrified, so Zoro didn't bother enforcing the eye-contact rule, because she seemed upset enough, and didn't need to fear his volatile wrath if she so dared to look away from him.

_Poor kid_, he mused sympathetically. What was with these unlucky people and their utterly shitty lives? It'd probably be more annoying to deal with if they all weren't so legitimately fucked-up.

"Vivi?" he asked softer, his hand coming out to wrap lightly around her thin wrist, remembering from the last time he'd watched her fall apart that she seemed to respond to a physical connection of some sort. "Hey, it'll be fine. Just tell me what's wrong."

She nodded again, breathing deep and taking a degree of comfort from his lax touch, like he figured she would. Another breath for good measure.

"Well, um …" she started haltingly, running her tongue anxiously over her bottom lip. "I … well, I'm … I'm in love …"

Oh, Zoro's brain was so broken. There wasn't an alternate universe in the craziest corner of _any_ person's imagination where this seemed like a plausible scenario.

Vivi. Was asking Zoro. For advice. About _romance_. There … this was …

… What the fuck, honestly?

_Roll with it, Zoro_, he chanted to himself. _Just go with it. This could work out. You never know. It could work out_.

Even though he could already smell the smoke from when this entire conversation crashed and burned violently. Oh well. He'd deal with that when it happened. Vivi needed him right now.

"…Kay…" he started, coughed awkwardly, struggled not to shift, tried again, "Now, don't take this the wrong way, kid, but when you fall in love, isn't it usually … y'know, a good thing?"

A rueful grin twisted Vivi's pale mouth, and it was a really weird look for her, didn't quite match the "Care Bear" quality of her eyes, and Zoro decided he didn't like it.

"Normally, yes, falling in love is a reason to celebrate. But not with this current situation."

"What _is_ this current situation?"

"I'm - " she broke off, face scrunched in a look of mounting desperation, like she was expecting the world to explode any second, before she could even get the dreaded secret out.

Zoro gripped her wrist with a just a hair more force, trying to get her to focus and convince her that they weren't about to go up in flames just because she was having some romantic crisis. Her gaze found her lap, free hand coming up to squeeze at his fingers slightly as she forced herself to calm down. Her mouth trembled slightly as she spoke.

"I'm … I'm in love with a woman."

Zoro's eyes widened considerably as he stared at the top of her head which was bowed in mortification and shame.

"Oh."

He really couldn't think of much else to say.

"But I'm not a lesbian."

Right, because that made perfect sense. Perfectly.

Except it didn't.

Now, Zoro may not be overly well-versed in women's matters, or matters of the heart, as it so happened, but what little he knew tended to define "lesbians" as being "females who are attracted sexually to other females." Vivi was female. So was this chick she was in love with. How the hell was that, and "being a lesbian" not the same thing? How exactly were these separate matters? And what in the name of all things holy and good had made her think _Zoro_ was qualified to advise her on this set of circumstances?

His silence seemed to worry her, since the young girl very reluctantly dragged her gaze up to meet the green-haired man's, a deep, irrational fear very evident in her face; fear of judgment, of disgust, of confusion and resentment and spite.

All he did was offer her a small, blameless smile.

"Well, I can see why you didn't want Sanji catching wind of this."

And, despite how utterly dejected and borderline terrified she'd been since the moment she sat down on the couch, Vivi still managed to laugh for him: a light, feathery, almost weak-sounding laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

"And how are you not a lesbian, exactly? Doesn't this sort of qualify?"

"Well, usually yes," Vivi admitted, her demeanor slowly melting into a more secure calm. Apparently that was the worst of her confession, and once that mountain had been cleared without resulting in a complete nuclear fall-out, she could breathe easier. "But it is sort of different. See, I'm only attracted to this one woman. It's not as though I feel attracted to _all_ females, just this one. In fact, I fell in love with her personality and … well, _her_, before I ever found myself physically attracted to her."

Zoro's eyebrows rose in mild surprise. "Huh. First time I've ever heard something like this, to be honest. But you fell for her personality first, eh? Must be a pretty amazing dame, for you to jump ship like that."

A fond smile curled the delicate corners of Vivi's mouth as she watched the floor dreamily, as though the hardwood was actually some window she could look through and see the girl of her dreams delicately dusting the living room, or something.

"She is rather amazing. I think, anyway. I know some may disagree, including herself. She's strong and funny and determined, and every now and then she can be a bit selfish and over-the-top, but she truly does have a compassionate heart, and a tendency to believe the worst about herself." The blue-haired girl looked up just then, eyes sparkling with amusement as she said, "Really, she reminds me a lot of you, Zoro."

Now, how the hell was he supposed to take _that_ kind of comment? Really it just raised more questions to his mind, but he wondered whether he should bother bringing it up. It wasn't important, or even all that relevant to her situation, but he couldn't help the fact that his was completely blowed over by all this information.

Some of his confusion must have translated onto his face, because Vivi frowned just the slightest, and asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

He shook his head slightly, trying to get everything in there to settle. It didn't work. He wasn't surprised. "I'm just wondering about some things."

"Like what things?"

"Like … and this is gonna sound weird, but don't take this to heart, seriously, uh … if you're not usually attracted to other women, and this particular one reminds you of me, then, hypothetically, wouldn't it make more sense for you to be … _interested_ in me?"

Zoro tried not to sound like a fool, but he probably failed on that count, seeing as how he'd managed to succeed in feeling very, very foolish.

But Vivi didn't seem insulted or angry or anything else he'd been expecting as a reaction to him and his general dumbness in the realm of romance. She just grinned further, face tinting slightly pink as she averted her gaze again.

"Well … honestly, I asked myself the same thing just yesterday, when I finally realized I was truly in love with this woman. I wondered why I hadn't fallen for you, when your character is so close to hers and since, until now, I've always been attracted to males. And you _are_ attractive, so it wasn't that at all; in fact, I think when I first met you, I might have crushed on you a little - "

_Holy shit, I'm sorry I asked! I _really _don't need this sort of awkward in my life!_

" – but that's all it ever was," she said, shrugging. "Just a crush to try and cover up what I knew I felt all along. And trust me, even now, I wish I _could_ fall for you. I feel like it'd be a lot less of a hassle than all this nonsense."

"Why is this a hassle?" he asked, frowning himself. "I mean, since this is the first chick you've ever been interested in, I can see why it'd be hard for you to wrap your head around. Beyond that, what the hell else could be wrong about this situation?"

That nasty, rueful grin settled back in, and the embarrassed-yet-cheerful light that had only minutes ago lit up those blue eyes was gone, replaced now with an ironic sense of hopelessness. Zoro _really_ didn't like that look on such an otherwise upbeat person. What the hell could honestly be so bad that it caused Vivi's eternal well of sunshine and optimism to dry up?

"She's straight."

Oh.

That pretty well explained it. Was a lot simpler than he thought it would be, but given the circumstances, the simplest of wrinkles in the fabric could mean the difference between happiness or despair for the pale young girl. It must be rough, knowing the person you love will never love you back; knowing you can't even _tell_ them how you feel, or you'll ruin any chance of being around them at all, even as friends. No wonder Vivi had been so distressed; it was a lot to have to deal with. Even thinking about it gave Zoro a headache, and he wasn't even the one –

" – Wait," the swordsman abruptly spoke up, interrupting his own thoughts. He gave Vivi a slow, shrewd look just then, suspicions and curiosity resurging all over again. "Do I know this girl?"

Her eyes went wide, shocked almost, and her body seized up slightly, looking frightened and utterly cornered. Clearly, this had not been something she'd intended for him to figure out.

And sure, that sucked, but if she wanted his advice – and how fucked up did _that_ sound? – wouldn't it be a lot easier for him to advise her if he actually knew who the hell they were talking about when they said, "this woman?" That made sense, right? Zoro wasn't all that sure, he wasn't used to doing this sort of thing, but if there was one thing he could fall back on in life, it was that he operated solely on logic. If it didn't make sense, it was probably not a good idea. And now he found himself with a situation that, to him at least, didn't make any sense at all. A woman who had never had any lesbian tendencies in her life now finds herself head-over-heels in love with another woman. No, that didn't seem to fit into how Zoro thought the world worked, but the proof of the matter was sitting right in front of him, and there truly was no denying that Vivi was deeply in love with this person. If she was willing to risk this sort of embarrassment and judgement over confessing it to someone, it was obviously very, very true. So, despite how little he knew about women, despite how little he'd ever cared about romance, despite how infrequently he'd been approached for advice of any kind, and despite how much this didn't seem logical in any way, Zoro was gonna try once more to muscle through this.

He just hoped he didn't fuck it up.

"Vivi," he began with a sigh, "if I know the person, I can help you better. Just tell me who it is."

The young girl seemed to fold up on herself, tight-lipped and even more unwilling to divulge this information than she had been about being in love with a member of the same sex. Maybe she thought it would be too personal, maybe she feared ruining the group dynamic.

Zoro didn't particularly care. He knew the answer anyway, whether she said it or not. Really, it wasn't that hard to figure out.

"It's Nami, isn't it?"

Vivi started to tremble slightly, eyes bright with unshed tears, as if this, for whatever reason, was what would finally bring the disgust into the swordsman's tone. She nodded just barely, eyes nailed to the floor and looking like a scared, lost child. Remembering then that he still held her wrist lightly, Zoro began rubbing soft, comforting circles into her skin. The fingers of her free hand clutched at his again, squeezing hard as she fought to keep composure in check.

"It's okay, kid. It's not as bad as all that."

"Yes it is!" she wailed, louder than she'd dared to be at any time during this conversation, sad and broken and dismayed. "Oh God, what am I supposed to do, Zoro? What do I do? What _can_ I do? God, I've ruined everything!"

And with that last heart-rending cry, she dissolved into convulsive sobs.

Zoro was vaguely horrified. He also felt an odd, stabby-sort of pain in his chest at seeing his friend fall apart this badly. A large part of him wanted to reach his hand through time and space and magically drag Nami into the apartment, so he could berate her selfish, bitchy ass for making such a generally sweet and happy girl this bitter and destroyed.

And he figured he was definitely losing his edge. Goddamn Vivi and Chopper for making him go soft. He was actually getting _good_ at this whole "consoling" thing. Well…perhaps good wasn't really the word; "less sucky" might be more apt, considering he still felt like an awkward, ignorant lump whenever he did it, but being painfully aware of his own massive shortcomings didn't stop him from kneeling on the hard wood floor and slowly, uncertainly, wrapping his arms around the weeping girl.

_Well, there goes my persona as a hardass_, he thought wryly, tentatively patting the back of Vivi's head as yet another one of his T-shirts was soaked in tears. Really, he'd never met a group of people that cried this much in his life. And he was feeling less and less freaked out by that.

Yes, Zoro was screwed. He'd succumbed to the weakness of _caring_ about people and _feeling_ bad for them, and _worrying_ about them, and _sympathizing_ with them, which was really the worst of the lot.

_Fuck. My life_, he despaired, but only for a second, until a particularly harsh shudder wracked the small body in his arms, and his attention was pulled away from his defeatist musings.

"Vivi," he started, trying to sound as understanding as possible, because even though it seemed pretty hard to imagine, he was convinced he could still somehow make this all worse, "things aren't ruined. Seriously. It's not as bad as all that."

"H-how do you know?" she cried, voice muffled into his chest.

"Cuz I know Nami. That miser was cooking us breakfast all last week, and the bitch wouldn't quit whining and complaining at me over every damn thing she could think of. It was awful, really. But I know she cares about you. A lot. When she's not throwing a damn fit, she's always talking about you. I dunno if that's anywhere in the same realm as love, but I'm at least pretty sure that she wouldn't abandon you if you decided to tell her how you feel." He paused, then added as an afterthought, "Which you should."

A strange sound half-way between a gasp and a choked-off sob. "I can't tell her! What will she say? What would she think? She'd probably never speak to me again."

Her thin fists twisted Zoro's shirt in merciless bunches, wrinkling and possibly tearing it. He wasn't much concerned.

She sounded so fucking desperate.

"I've messed everything up! How are we going to live together anymore? How are we going to be friends? How is anything going to be the same again?"

"It isn't."

And it was the truth, goddamn however hard it was for her to hear it. She came to him, this is what she should expect. And she flinched, powerfully, jerking a bit against the circle of his arms, but she didn't pull away and she wasn't weeping anymore.

"Things won't be the same," he said simply. "Everything is different now, and you know that. The way you feel puts a new dynamic on things, and that ain't gonna change just because you wish it would. You can pretend all you want that you don't feel like you do, but you'll only be lying to yourself. And when the hell did that ever help anyone?"

Vivi mumbled wordlessly into his shoulder, sniffling and hiccupping in attentive despair.

He sighed, fingers tracing random patterns against her scalp, gently mussing her long blue hair.

"So tell her. What have you got to lose?"

She sniffed. "Everything?"

"Isn't it worth that much, too?"

The young girl pulled away just then, peering up at Zoro with glossy, red-rimmed eyes and sopping wet face, paler than she looked when she walked through the door, yet decidedly less burdened. And Vivi looked at him then, looked him straight in the eye, not because he told her to, but because she seemed to think that whatever courage she was lacking was somehow to be found in the green-haired swordsman. And he held her gaze, unflinchingly, as honestly as he'd ever looked at anyone, and after a moment or two, she must have found what she was looking for. She smiled, small and delicate and very, very fragile.

But there wasn't a trace of bitterness to be found in it.

Zoro approved of this smile.

"Thank you," Vivi murmured, just barely above a whisper.

He grinned back at her and simply shrugged.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and held on for a long, long time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He'd lost track of the rest of the afternoon, his mind sort of checking out during the immense stretch of time Vivi'd spent clinging to him. She'd pulled away eventually, and Zoro decided in light of all the crying and such that tea would probably be a good idea, so he put a pot on – the one and only thing he was capable of doing successfully in the kitchen – and they talked randomly, pointlessly, and without direction as they waited for the tea to be ready. And once they both had warm mugs steaming soothingly in their hands, they continued talking. Zoro doubted he'd ever talked quite as much in his entire life before that moment, the only exception being the night of Zeff's funeral, when he'd recounted his entire life's story to a drunk and oblivious Sanji, but that hardly seemed like it counted. And true, Vivi was doing most of the talking, with the swordsman making quiet noises of affirmation and a few brief words of commentary, but it was still technically a conversation, and it lasted a lot longer than Zoro'd ever managed before. He didn't know if he should be proud of himself, or horrified.

_Seriously…_seriously _losing my edge…_

It didn't seem too important at the moment, though, so he figured he'd put off thinking about it until after Vivi went home. Which it looked very much like she never would. Zoro didn't totally blame her, what with the huge ball of fucked-up in the form of a retarded, selfish, clueless roommate awaiting her upon her return, but Zoro wanted her to actually tell Nami how she felt, and he didn't want to give her an excuse to curtail that responsibility by getting home at the crack of fucking dawn. But he didn't really know how to convey the message, "GET THE FUCK OUT_" _without offending her, and subtlety had never been one of the swordsman's strong points. The sun had set near a half hour ago, it was getting late, and he didn't have a damn clue how to get Vivi to leave.

As it so happened, salvation came in the last possible form Zoro'd ever expected.

The door to the apartment sailed open just then, revealing Sanji, home from a long day on his feet in the hot, busy kitchen of the Baratie, where he still worked as Assistant Head Chef, despite being written out of the Old Man's will. Zoro didn't understand this at all, and he'd meant to ask about it, but Sanji'd been doing so well the last couple of days that he wasn't too keen on bringing up anything that might set the cook back in his recovery.

Zoro finally got the blonde acting normal again. He didn't want to fuck with it.

Said blonde looked up just as he walked into the apartment, shaking his sweat-dried and unkempt hair out of his face for a brief second before the curtain over his left eye fell back into place, and locked gazes the swordsman. Zoro, for his part, had expected to be more or less ignored by the scrawny cook – he tended to be pretty exhausted and frustrated and distracted after work, and never did talk much to anyone unless they made their presence known in an obvious way – and was therefore fairly surprised when he found himself on the receiving end of a Death Glare to End All Death Glares.

_What the fuck is Curlicue's problem? _Zoro thought, slightly bewildered and glaring right back without missing a beat. _Haven't even said two words to the fucker, how the hell could I have already pissed him o_—

"Sanji!" a bright, surprised-sounding voice piped up just then, and Zoro started, blinking rapidly as his eyes shifted from the eternally enraged cook to the young, blue-haired girl now twisted around in her seat to look at aforementioned enraged cook, who still stood, glowering and speechless, in the open doorway.

It was at this moment in time that Zoro actually remembered who Vivi was, namely: one of Sanji's beloved ladies. And she'd been here, with Zoro, _alone_ for God knew how long, and the swordsman figured this kind of scenario was high on the list of things Sanji would have no qualms kicking his ass for. Right up there with mocking his eyebrow, messing with his kitchen, and breathing too loudly.

Fucking prick.

But the only (and Zoro meant _only_) benefit of the idiot's complete and unfaltering devotion to his ladies was that, at least for the moment, he was too preoccupied tending to Vivi's every conceivable need to take any further notice of the swordsman.

Thank fuck for small favors.

So instead of riling off and threatening death and food poisoning forever, Sanji opted to slap on a dopey smile and twirl at dizzying speeds over to where the blue-haired girl sat, kneeling on the floor at her side and swooping up her thin hand with a flourish, pressing a chaste and gentlemanly kiss to the pale skin there, trilling in his nerve-grating, high-pitched tone reserved only for the girls. Zoro failed to see how this was a priveledge for them, as it damn near drove him to fits of insanity.

"My lovely Vivi, it is so good to see you! I do hope this brute hasn't harmed or offended you in any way!"

She just laughed charmingly, patting his wrist. "It's good to see you too, Sanji. Seems like it's been such a long while. And Zoro's just fine, don't worry; we were merely talking for a bit."

The cook's blue eyes seemed to tick, complex calculations running behind his irises as he took rapid stock of the situation. Then he aimed a very intense, very _warning_ glare at Zoro – what he was being warned against was a little lost on the green-haired man, since anything Vivi had to fear from him, Sanji was more likely to do, anyway – only to have his mask of pleasant chivalry snap back into place not a millisecond later, as he turned to coo at the young girl.

"Of course, my angel! Whatever you say. Now that I'm here, though, is there anything I can do for you? A drink, perhaps? We'll be eating dinner soon, and you're wlecom to join."

She gave him a small but genuine smile, as she said, "Ordinarilly I would love to, Sanji, but it's late, and I really should be going. Nami's probably wondering what happened to me."

"Ah yes! It would be dreadful if the wonderful Nami were vexed! You should hurry home to her at once!" Sanji said, beaming hugely at her.

"I will," Vivi laughed lightly. "And I'll tell her you said hi. Good night, Sanji."

"Good night, my goddess!" he warbled, pressing another kiss to her pale fingers. Then his demeanor shifted a full one-eighty as he rounded on the swordsman, fixing him with a seething stare. "Walk her to the door, idiot!" he growled, then flashed a parting smile at the young girl and spun on his heel, marching over to his kitchen and flicking on the overhead lights.

Zoro wondered briefly if Sanji had Split-Personality Disorder. Then he decided he didn't care, because caring about that fucker had only brought him a world of trouble, anyway.

Shrugging off his aggravated train of thought, he looked up to see Vivi watching him curiously. He merely shook his head at her in defeat and said, "Come on."

Zoro marched over to the door in a matter of a few strides, sliding it open as Vivi trailed behind him, about an ounce of hesitancy in her step. A small part of him felt sorta bad about practically kicking her out of the apartment and throwing her into a severely messed up situation back home. But the majority of him was pretty well convinced that however bad things got, they'd only get worse the longer Vivi stewed about it and never did anything. So he wasn't guilty.

Only kind of concerned.

Which wasn't all that much better, in Zoro's book.

Vivi stepped up to his side, laying a hand on his arm and speaking in a low voice so Sanji wouldn't hear, "Thank you again, Zoro. I really appreciate it."

"Are you gonna tell her?" he asked without preamble, looking down into her slightly startled expression.

"Um…well…" she looked away, biting her lip. "I know I should…I know I should do it soon…"

"Yes, you should."

"I…" blue eyes met his again, trembling and scared. She heaved a sigh. "I'll do it. Tonight."

He frowned. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Okay then."

He smiled.

She faltered.

"Um."

"What?"

"Can I…come over tomorrow, and…tell you how it went?"

The swordsman nodded. "Sure. I'd like to know. But come by after four."

"Why?" she asked.

"I don't get off work 'til about three-thirty."

At that her eyes widened, looking suddenly glossy and slightly teared-over, lower lip quivering a bit, and Zoro didn't know what the hell her problem was, now.

"You," she started, blinking in disbelief, "You wasted your last day of vacation on _me_?"

"No," he said automatically. It hadn't been a waste. He hadn't had any plans that day, anyhow, so how could he waste it?

"But you - _you_!" she started, too flustered and blushing and waving arms slightly to make a valid point. "You! You…you spent the whole day! Just listening to me prattling on about all this….and you never even complained! And you probably had _plans_! Wanted to do things before going to work, and you - "

" – I didn't have plans, Vivi, I was just gonna - "

" – wasted _your last day of vacation_ babysitting me! That's not fair! That's not fair to you!"

Zoro huffed, thinking how unsettling it was that Vivi reacted to shocking news almost _exactly_ how Chopper would.

_I do not need _two _bundles of hopeless fluff in my life. The kid is plenty. Seriously._

Rolling his eyes, he said, "Will blaming you make you leave sooner so you'll have that damn talk already?"

Vivi blinked, mouth opening and closing a few times as her jarred mind tried to comprehend everything. "So you're not mad?"

"Do I look mad?"

"Maybe a little irritated. Is that my fault?"

"If I say yes, will you leave?"

She frowned, her forehead creasing pitifully and seeming hurt. "You want me to leave?"

The swordsman groaned, rubbing his face firmly with rough hands and reminding himself that strangling people is _wrong_.

"I want you to stop avoiding the issue. I want you to go, so you'll talk to Nami. Move on with life. Maybe even be happy." He lowered his arms, leveling her a frank look. "And you can't do that if you don't leave. Now. So go."

Vivi stared at him a moment, face expressionless, until her mounting worry made her look away, eyes on the floor, and she started fidgeting again. Then she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing a deep breath in, deep breath out, and she seemed a bit more in control after that.

"Okay," she murmured. "I will. I promise."

Zoro grinned. "Glad to hear it."

The young girl met his gaze after that, and managed a little smile of her own.

"Thank you again. You're really wonderful, Zoro."

And then she moved forward, arched up on tip-toes, kissed his cheek lightly, and was out the door before he could fully process what the _hell_ had just transpired.

Zoro blinked, staring into the empty, darkened space of the landing just outside the apartment, and wondered if this entire day had just been a dream, and he was still in fact asleep on the couch in the living room, bottle of sake tipping precariously in his lax grip. He sort of hoped he was. Because then he wouldn't have to answer any questions about when he'd become such a fucking weak-ass sap, and how these goddamn _friends_ of his had somehow gotten him wrapped around their collective fingers, and how it was that, even when he _knew_ it was happening, he still did nothing to prevent it. He didn't _want_ these sorts of connections. At least he hadn't a few months ago. And Zoro didn't even know when all this mess had started, or when he'd suddenly changed his mind and decided that all the tough, shitty lessons he'd learned from his past were now completely fucking irrelevant. Because they weren't, at least he thought they weren't, but then again he also thought he'd decided earlier that morning that he wasn't gonna bother thinking about this shit anyway, because he _cared_ now, and he was _happy_, and _safe_, and it all seemed fine when he was simply musing on it hypothetically, but actually being faced with these massive changes to his outlook on things in real-life interactions…it really fucking threw him off. More than he expected.

And he figured it was the gratitude. He couldn't get used to people actually…_wanting_ to be around him and being thankful for the opportunity. Couldn't fathom why they would, honestly. He tended to dislike most people, often on an arbitrary basis, and as a result, most people tended to avoid him. But these assholes…they practically forced themselves on him, and since he _lived_ with three of them, and had grown pretty fond of having a roof over his head, the swordsman didn't really have a whole lot of say in the matter. And since he'd started almost _enjoying_ their company, he didn't see much point in losing any sleep over why they even liked him in the first place, or why he was suddenly okay with all this.

Until right about now.

Now, Zoro did wonder about those answers. Now, he did wonder about the why and how. Now, even though he _cared_, and was _happy_, and _safe_, he was also _confused as all fucking hell_, and he was pretty sure he'd never be all that okay with the companionship, and the liking, and the gratitude. It was never going to make sense to him, and he would always prefer if it were never mentioned.

But right at that second - as he stood there in the darkened doorway leading out onto the stairwell, a mass of gnats buzzing around in his skull once again and feeling tired and generally stunned – Zoro decided what he would really prefer was to finish off his bottle of sake, eat some food, and get to bed early, if possible without any bitching from Sanji or loud demands from Luffy to play the new, inane game he'd made up twenty mintues before walking through the door.

Chopper was okay, though. He could do whatever he damn well pleased, it never bothered the swordsman.

_Well_, and the green-haired man sighed slightly, letting his shoulders relax by degrees, _at least all that weirdness is over. Even though the show of gratitude at the end was a bit…much. _

He gave a mental shrug, sliding the door closed again and rubbing at the back of his neck, turning towards the couch once more, and the bottle of booze waiting for him on the coffee table.

_At least shit-cook didn't catch it. Idiot would fly off the fucking hand –_

"Oi, marimo!"

Zoro paused, sighed, hand gripping his neck now in barely restrained agitation, and this day had been way longer than he'd planned on. He should have expected it. He really should have seen it coming.

Not like Curlicue was any better at subtlety than Zoro was.

So with a resigned huff, the swordsman opened his eyes, and was fairly unsurprised to see the blonde chef standing just beside the arm of the couch, glaring at him.

"What, cook?" Zoro asked, taking the approach he usually used when dealing with Smoker: the faster he let them get on with their pissy rant, the sooner he could ignore them and go about his life.

Sanji's eyes narrowed further, calculating and unforgiving. Then he drew a deep breath, no doubt readying a hugely-long tirade on women and their innocence, or something just as retarded…

"Is she finally gonna tell Nami?"

The room went so utterly silent, the pirate flag's wafting in the evening breeze out on the fire escape was still audible over the sound of Zoro's brain imploding. He'd never before in his life been in danger of swallowing his own tongue until that very moment.

Screw his eyes shut. Wrench them open. Blink a few times to focus.

Stare at Sanji like he's a fucking alien.

He might actually be brain-dead.

This theory was very nearly proven correct, when he noticed the odd-looking grimace the cook wore, and realized that blonde fucker was trying not to grin. _Smugly._

"You knew?" It was the only plausible thing to say, at the moment. Zoro was just proud of himself for saying words.

Sanji just scoffed, rolling his eyes, because _clearly_ Zoro was a goddamned moron, and the cook was, _of course_, a fucking genius, since he pretty much _stalked_ those chicks.

"I've known these girls a lot longer than you have, marimo," he said, this time really playing up that infuriating smirk. "It was kinda obvious."

Zoro frowned. "Do the others know?"

At that Sanji frowned as well, lower lip jutting out at an odd angle as his mind no doubt scanned through their roster of friends.

"Robin does, I'll bet. Maybe Kaya too. I think Franky knows, but I'd rather not discuss that - " Zoro grunted his approval; he rarely wanted to discuss how the big-armed engineer knew things, either – "I cannot presume to distinguish what the lovely Nami is or isn't aware of. And I think the others are just idiots." Sanji nodded then, signaling the end to his diagnosis.

The swordsman nodded back, regarding the cook with an ounce of expectancy, because he couldn't be sure if that was the actual conversation Sanji had intended to have, or if it was merely a diversionary tactic. Not that the blonde was ever that crafty, but…Zoro found it hard to believe the skinny bastard wouldn't somehow drill him for scoring a kiss off one of his darling girls.

Despite the fact that she was currently batting for the other team.

But no. The cook merely shifted a bit, that disgustingly self-pleased air dissipating into nothingness about as quickly as it'd shown up. His hands in his pockets, blue gaze suddenly engrossed in the floor, toe knocking against the leg of the couch and looking generally uncertain yet completely determined to make some point or other. About what, Zoro didn't have the foggiest, and while he kind of wished the blonde wouldn't bother – because, as today had pretty well proved, the harder things are to say, the less anyone wants to hear them – he knew the idiot was gonna plow forward anyway.

Fucker was stubborn, there was no denying it.

Sanji drew another slow, preparing breath, the kind that seemed designed to throw the swordsman off kilter. Zoro steeled himself for…anything. Rant. Inevitability. Apocalypse.

"You talked to her, right? You convinced her to tell Nami about it?"

A lone, blue eye chanced a quick glance from under the fringe of hair that had slid back a little more than usual, further shielding expressions.

Cook was so uncomfortable it was almost funny.

"Yeah…" Zoro said, unsure where this was going and not even trying to pretend otherwise.

Sanji nodded again, watching the floor some more, his mindless tapping finally abated, but the smog of awkward he was exuding seemed to grow to smothering levels. Zoro cocked an eyebrow, wondering if there was a purpose for this discussion, and if they were going to get to it anytime soon. The kids were probably gonna be home before too long, and fuck if anything ever got done once Luffy remembered he had a captive audience back at the apartment.

The silence was getting deafening.

"That was…good," Sanji said, nodding to himself, and yet scowling at the same time, as though he approved of his statement but had no idea what was actually coming out of his mouth.

Zoro blinked. "Okay."

Coincidentally, _he_ had no idea what was coming out of Curlicue's mouth, either.

"I mean…it was a good thing to do. Really. She might actually be happy, now."

"Uh huh."

Sanji looked up again. They just sort of stared at each other. They weren't screaming, they weren't bickering, they weren't bandying vicious insults back and forth. When it came right down to it, they had no idea how to act civilly with each other. It was such a pathetic situation, Zoro might have laughed at it, if his skin wasn't so busy trying to literally crawl off his body like a million, frightened centipedes.

By his tense pose and desperate look of a deer about to bolt back into the woods, Sanji probably felt similarly.

"Uh."

"Right."

It was unbelievable how much they sucked at this.

And Zoro decided he'd quite had enough for one night. Or a lifetime.

"Well, I'm headed for bed." The fact that it was six o'clock did not, amusingly enough, make this a strange claim, and shit-cook didn't even bat an eye at the announcement. Zoro had a pretty clockwork practice of taking regular naps throughout the day, usually needing to be reawakened for meals. Sanji of course mocked him mercilessly, but it had stopped being odd about two weeks into the swordsman living there.

Sanji just opted to nod mutely – again – and continue staring at the floor, as though the wood grain was gonna somehow morph itself into a point-by-point overview of exactly what the blonde needed to say.

Zoro rolled his eyes, deciding he knew what was most likely to come next, and he didn't want to hear it. It wasn't necessary, it wasn't wanted, and he'd already determined he would never get used to it.

He didn't handle gratitude well. So he wanted nothing to do with it.

So without waiting for any kind of follow-up from the cook, Zoro turned on his heel and headed towards his shared room, hoping to make it all the way past the threshold before some God-forsaken epiphany befell the tongue-tied moron, and he suddenly remembered how to say the words "thank" and "you" in the same sentence, right next to each other. Almost there, now. Just a few more steps. He could totally make it. He was gonna make it. He was gonna walk right into that room. He was gonna close that door. He was gonna climb onto his shitty cot, purchased with Sanji's shitty money, and fall into a nice, dreamless sleep, and wake up for dinner, and all of this was gonna be behind him. Never to be thought of or mentioned again. Just like it was supposed to be.

The sudden sound of footsteps behind him, a curious _sloshing_ noise, and the familiar raspy voice saying, "Zoro."

And Zoro stopped.

Because, above all else, Sanji's ability to make him do dumb things tended to trump most of the swordsman's higher thought processes and survival instincts.

_The cook'll be the death of me, one day_, Zoro mused, squeezing his eyes shut and sighing, since he really only had himself to blame; _I can feel it_.

He turned around anyway, reluctant, already knowing what the bane of his existence was going to say, and hoping if the procedure was sped along, it'd be slightly less unbearable.

"Here."

That…was not what Zoro had expected.

He expected even less the half-empty bottle of sake – forgotten on the coffee table until that very moment – that was currently being offered to him by a pale hand wrapped around the neck. Zoro looked up at the owner of said hand, gauging, wondering what this was supposed to mean, and if it was what he thought it was.

Sanji just shrugged, grinning at him slightly without a trace of snark.

He reached out and wrapped his larger hand around the body of the glass jug, and for a brief minute, they were both holding it, joined at some bizarrely definite point, and grinning at each other like it was some really funny inside joke, even though neither of them had any idea what was going on.

All Zoro knew, as Sanji let go, shoving his hands in his pockets and meandering back over towards the kitchen, was that this was, and always would be, the _only_ acceptable form of gratitude.

_I could get used to _this.


End file.
